


that can only mean one thing

by shutupluke



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: AU, And I guess, Blowjobs, Coming Untouched, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Edging, M/M, Name-Calling, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phone Sex, Sex Toys, Smut, all that good stuff, but that's again very softcore, handjobs, i mean not yet anyway, not like hard-core though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 14:11:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5747425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutupluke/pseuds/shutupluke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Tell me, Ashton Irwin, are you looking to have the best orgasm of your life? Because I could give that to you, right now. Is that what you want, big boy?” </p><p>Jesus. Fucking. Christ. He’s only gone and called a fucking sex hotline, obviously. Because his luck is just that spectacular. </p><p>~</p><p>Or, Michael has a dirty mouth and Ashton might just love it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. late night when you need my love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [antisocialhood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/antisocialhood/gifts).



> Ask and you shall receive, Trish: this is a ridiculously smutty mashton fic. Happy birthday you old aged pensioner.
> 
> The title is from hotline bling because yes, I am that kind of person. 
> 
> This is another fic about phone conversations??? Apparently I like writing those. 
> 
> This idea isn't mine, it's from a prompt master list that I have since lost, but I was super inspired to write it as a mashton au.
> 
> I don't know how often I'll update this but I will try and aim for a new chapter every week? But obviously, school and just life generally might get in the way of that. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the filth!

Ashton Irwin is going to kill his roommate. He thinks he should probably warn him, let him know of his demise in advance so he can get his shit together; create a will, arrange a funeral and all that. "Calum, I swear to God I am going to kill you!" He yells, voice carrying along the corridor. He knows that he’s been heard when the floorboards creak. Calum’s probably finding a hiding place- a wise choice. Ashton can be pretty mean when he's angry. 

And he wouldn't actually kill Calum (he doesn't think so anyway), he's just a little pissed off. Or, well, maybe that's an understatement. It's just- it's unfair. It's super, super fucking unfair. Why do the God's treat him this way? What kind of sins did he commit in his previous life to deserve the luck he has in this one?

He had felt the whole day like things were finally coming up Ashton. He'd caught the earliest train and had got on for free, his professors had seemed happy with his performance at school, and best of all, he'd actually got that cute barista's number. 

It seems obvious now that all these incidents were merely meant to lull him into a false sense of security, so now his pain would feel even worse in comparison. Ashton's entire existence has been a lie, essentially. Fuck. 

Ashton has been going to the same coffee shop for three months now, all in an attempt to woo the cute blonde barista who'd served him the first time he’d gone. Sadly, fate had never quite played along, and Ashton had started to assume that he'd simply made up this gorgeous creation: when Ashton considered the ethereal, God-like beauty of this broad shouldered, blue eyed barista, this did seem like the most plausible option. 

But today- today he'd been there and they'd chatted for at least ten minutes before Ashton realised he had to leave. He’d left with a smile on his face, a coffee in his hand and Luke's phone number, scrawled in blue biro on a paper napkin. "Call me?" Luke had said nervously, as if Ashton hadn't been stalking him for months on end. 

He'd gone home, turned on the TV, discarded the napkin on a counter to come back to later before he proceeded to forget about it. An hour or two later Ashton remembered his promise and wandered from the living room into the kitchen to call Luke. 

So here he was: staring at a napkin in his kitchen and yelling about homicide. The number was still legible, luckily: except for the last digit. He feels like crying- screaming, maybe- punching through the fucking wall. The phone number Ashton has coveted for three fucking months has been wiped away by his roommate’s inability to find a fucking coaster.

Luke's phone number either ends with an eight or a six- or maybe it's a three? He can't tell because of the fucking brown ring that borders the number and smudges the last blue digit behind recognition. Fucking Calum. He figures he might as well try all of the numbers, and if it turns out it’s not any then he'll repeat the three month process of waiting for a glimpse of the lesser spotted fucking barista. 

Fuck it. He's got to try, hasn't he? 

"Hi, Luke? It's Ashton here. Ashton Irwin?” 

“Well, hello there Ashton Irwin.” And shit wow, okay, that's definitely not Luke. 

The voice on the other line can only be described as sultry- this guy is practically purring his name. And well… it doesn't sound terrible. “Um, who’s this?” Ashton asks, tentatively intrigued.

“I’m whoever you want me to be, baby,” is the reply, and it's in the same sensual tone as before- so that's just their voice, then, which is quite weird. Ashton can practically hear the smirk through the telephone line. It's terrifying.

“I, uh- I think I've got the wrong number?” Ashton squeaks.

“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t. Tell me, Ashton Irwin, are you looking to have the best orgasm of your life? Because I could give that to you, right now. Is that what you want, big boy?” Jesus. Fucking. Christ. He’s only gone and called a fucking sex hotline, obviously. Because his luck is just that spectacular. 

“I’m, I’m- I’m gonna go?” It's not that the offer of ‘the best orgasm of his life’ isn't a promising one: in fact, Ashton would fucking love to have the best orgasm of his life. 

Not like this, though. Not over the phone, not talking to some guy with an admittedly appealing voice and a dirty mouth, not when Calum is two rooms over.

“Oh come on, Ashy," they whine, “have a little fun with me! I promise I can make it worth your while."

“No, no thank you, perfectly fine as I am. Thank you for the offer.” Ashton is shaking his head, though he knows that the mystery voice can't see that.

“Well, when you change your mind you know who to call.” Ashton almost scoffs. Believe him, he won't be changing his mind.

“Yep, I’ll- I’ll bare that in mind," Ashton mutters. 

“The best orgasm of your life, Ashton. Your entire life.” And God, the voice. It sounds like honey, like sin, like silk that Ashton just wants to drape over his body and like, suffocate in. This voice could tell him to walk off a cliff and he would probably do it.

“Uh huh. Okay. Bye bye now!” Ashton puts the phone down and tries to remember how to breathe. 

That might have been like, the weirdest experience of his entire fucking life, maybe? And he's a student. He's seen some weird ass shit in his short lifetime. 

He tries again. “Luke? Luke it’s-” 

“The number you have dialled has not been-” Ashton hangs up. 

Fucking Calum. 

“Prepare to die, Hood!” Ashton yells, before he's jumping out of his seat and legging it down the hall into Calum’s room. The other boy is nowhere to be seen but there's a suspiciously human boy shaped lump under the bedcovers. Ashton dives on top of said lump, jabbing at it with his fingers. 

Calum is wheezing and laughing, begging Ashton to end his assault. 

“Never!” Ashton cries, but the air is punched out of his lungs as Calum pushes him off the bed. He lands on the hardwood floor, gasping and groaning from the force of impact. He's probably like, broken his back or something. Calum has killed him. 

“Ash? Dude, are you good?” Calum asks, worry creeping into his voice. Still he doesn't get up, stays hidden beneath the protective barrier of quilts. 

“Oh, fine and fucking dandy, Calum.” Ashton replies, still snarky even on his deathbed. 

“That's good then.” Ashton glares at him. “So, who was that on the phone?” 

Ashton goes bright red. “Oh, um. Nobody?” 

Calum grins, but it's not like, a joyous smile. No, it's actually a little scary. “Who was it, Ash?” Calum’s voice is teasing and Ashton wants to punch his fucking face but also, he doesn't want to get off the floor? Laziness wins out. He manouvres onto his stomach and turns his face so he's not looking at Calum, but rather at the door. 

“So I might have called a sex line," Ashton admits. He doesn't need to look at Calum to know that the other boy is rolling around laughing. 

“Jeez Ash, I knew you were desperate but-” 

“Shut up, no, it wasn't like that!” Ashton groans, considering throwing himself out of the window briefly as a less painful alternative. He turns to face Calum finally, still lying on the floor but now glaring up at the other boy. “Luke: _barista guy_ ," Ashton addresses the look of confusion in Calum’s eyes before he can even think of vocalising it. “Luke gave me his number, but you fucking used it as a coaster so I lost the last digit and I figured I might as well try them all. Well, apparently Luke’s number is one off from a phone sex line. And so… And so, yeah.” 

“You didn't actually… You know. You hung up, right?” 

Ashton buries his face in his hands. “Yes, yes obviously. No I didn't have phone sex while you were in the other room. Jesus, Cal.” 

“Well what did you expect me to think?” Calum’s voice is a tad defensive, but he's fighting laughter so that he doesn't get physically assaulted again. Smart move.

“Irrelevant, Cal. You should just know that I'm not gonna fucking… jack off to the sound of another guy’s voice.” Ashton is ashamed that's a sentence he even has to articulate. He's even more ashamed that for a while, the prospect of it didn't sound terrible, but actually rather appealing.

“There’s no shame in it, Ash. I mean, when was the last time you actually got laid?” The fact that Ashton actually has to pause to try and remember speaks for itself. Calum bursts out laughing again when he sees Ashton’s perplexed face. He must look like a fucking goldfish, opening his mouth and then closing it as he realises he literally has no excuse. “You've been hung up on this ‘Luke’ for like, months on end at this point Ash. He likes you back, so you should just get on with it and fuck already.” 

Ashton gets up, throws himself bodily on to the bed beside Calum. His voice comes out muffled from where his face is pressed into the pillows. “You don't think I want that?” 

“Look. It's simple, Ash. You go back tomorrow, ask one of his coworkers for his number now that you know he wants to give it to you, and then you call him and ask him on a date. That's not rocket science, is it?” Calum’s hand has made its way to Ashton’s hair. He feels slightly like a dog, but doesn't really care because he quite likes it. It's soothing, or whatever. He's lonely, touch starved. Don't judge him. 

He sighs. “Fine. Okay. I can wait like a week, right?” 

~

Ashton can’t wait a week. 

It’s three am and he’s- he’s fucking horny, dammit, and his own hand and a second rate porno doesn't sound too appealing. He’s lonely. It hits him, then. He’s got Calum, and that's it. And no offence to Calum, he's not exactly who Ashton has in mind when he's getting off. Or, not getting off. There is something, or rather somebody that he is starting to think about though. If he closes his eyes he can almost hear that voice. The guy from the phone, the sex line guy. The one who’d promised him the best orgasm of his life. 

Before he knows it, Ashton’s reaching for the phone on his bedside table and calling the same number. 

“Hi, my name is Michael and I’m here to give you the best orgas-” so the voice has a name, then. Michael. For some reason, Ashton was expecting like a Brad or a Chase- Michael doesn't really sound like the name of a sex worker.

“This is Ashton Irwin!” Ashton interrupts. Michael laughs under his breath- Ashton assumes at his awkwardness, which is understandable.

“I’ve been waiting for you to call, Ashy. I knew you would break sooner or later.” And God, it's everything. It's the suggestive tone and the teasing lilt and the way his voice fluctuates from low and silky to high and angelic and- if Michael’s voice is turning him on, there's no way Ashton’s gonna last.

“Yeah, well, I- I, uh. I wanted to talk to you.” Ashton admits.

“Okay. Okay, then let’s talk. Did you have a certain topic in mind, or?” Michael’s sarcastic now, teasing him, but it's lighthearted and for some reason it makes Ashton feel at ease.

“Maybe. I was thinking that you might do a lot of the talking?” Ashton is hoping that his obvious inexperience is endearing rather than embarrassing.

“But if I'm talking then what are you going to be doing?” Michael’s voice is almost sinfully innocent, a real contradiction in terms. He fucking knows what Ashton’s gonna be doing. 

“You know what though, Ashton? I think I might be good at that. I have a feeling that this conversation might be different to the ones I usually have. Before we start, are there any sort of kinks that you want working into this? Do you have any fantasies?” 

Ashton is still bright red. “I guess, uh, I guess there is this one thing.” 

“Don’t be shy, Ash,” Michael says, weirdly gentle, which is not a quality Ashton would expect from a sex worker. But then Michael’s voice regains the sensual, sultry tone Ashton is used to hearing, and the moment (of tenderness?) is lost. “I want to make this good for you, Ashton, so you have to tell me what you want.”

“I like to be called… And you can't laugh at me. I like being called Daddy?” Ashton is mortified to even be saying it out loud.

“Daddy," Michael tries it out for size, “I think I can manage that. So tell me, Daddy, have I been a good boy? Or do you think I’ve been naughty?” And fuck, Ashton might cum after like three seconds. It sounds… Michael sounds like all of his fucking wet dreams come to life. He really fucking likes this Daddy thing. “Are you hard right now, Ashton?” 

“I, I, uh-” 

“Have you been hard the entire time?” Ashton’s silence is correctly taken as an affirmative. “You have, haven’t you? I bet you haven’t stopped thinking about this, about _me,_ all day. I've been thinking about you, Daddy. Every person that called, I was hoping they were you. Thinking about you when I was getting them off. What have you thought about, Ashy? What’s got you all hot and bothered?” Jesus fuck. 

“Fuck; fuck, Michael.” He's not too articulate at the best of times, and especially not now, not when he's already this worked up. His hand is already heading downwards and he's palming himself over his boxers, trying to stave off his inevitable orgasm for as long as he can. 

“I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking about. I was thinking about your cock, Daddy," Michael whispers, like it’s a secret only Ashton is meant to hear. Ashton inhales deeply and grips himself a little firmer, using his thumb to trace over the head of his cock where he can feel it through his boxers. “What you would taste like, how it would feel to have you in my mouth..." Ashton groans, low and guttural in his throat. He puts the phone on speaker beside him, gives up to the feeling of pure lust that's overcome him with every word Michael has said. He might not survive the night at this rate.

Michael sighs so hard it sounds kind of like a moan and that brings Ashton back to reality. “God, it's all I've been thinking about for hours now, sucking your dick. I want to taste you so badly, Ashton, need to know if you’d taste as good as I’m imagining.” Michael sounds like he's confessing, and even that is hot. Ashton decides on the spot to just go all out, pull down the frankly intrusive boxers and just get his hand on himself because… Because fuck it.

Michael continues, voice breathy and a little higher pitched, almost whiny now in this desperate, needy, fucking _hot_ sort of way. “And... And maybe you’d get so carried away, so caught up in the feeling that you’d start to fuck my throat. Would you like to do that, Daddy? Would you want me to choke on your big, thick cock?” Ashton is slowly stroking himself, working his body the way he knows he likes but his hand stutters at Michael’s filthy question. He moves his hand faster, increases the amount of his length he touches with each stroke and uses his thumb to tease the slit.

“Fuck, yeah, babe, want that so badly,” Ashton grits out. 

“Are you touching yourself, Ashton?” Michael asks, voice curious in an almost innocent way. 

Ashton nods and moans again at the feeling of relief starting to seep into his veins. He feels euphoric already and this has barely begun, “yeah, yeah I’m touching myself.”

“I want to touch myself too, Daddy. Thinking about you has made me so hard, I need to touch myself; please, let me. Am I allowed? Can I please, please touch myself?” 

Ashton simply groans at that. Jesus fuck, Michael wants his permission. Is asking for Ashton’s fucking permission to touch his own dick. Jesus, that's so hot. “Yeah, of course baby boy, you can touch yourself. Not too much though, don't want you coming yet. Daddy needs you to hold off.” And okay, where the fuck is that coming from? Ashton can't dirty talk. Or, well at least he never has before. Jesus, this is like an out of body fucking experience. He's been possessed by the ghost of like sex workers past, or something.

Michael moans. “Thank you, Daddy. Feels so good, I’ve been aching for so long.” Michael stops talking and for a moment the only audible sound is the obscene slapping of skin on skin and the both of their broken moans. “God, Daddy, I want to go lower. Can I go lower? Can I open myself up just for you, Daddy? For your cock?” 

Ashton is nearly crying. Fucking hell, Michael is going to kill him. Like actually, literally, end his life. He picks up his pace even more, if that's possible, spitting on his palm to make it easier- the precum leaking from his tip is definitely helping, too. “Yeah, yeah, finger yourself for me baby.” 

Michael moans and it's loud and high pitched and so pornographic that it should sound forced- it doesn't. It sounds fucking hot, next level hot, so hot Ashton has to squeeze the base of his dick a little tighter than is pleasurable just to keep from blowing right then. “It feels so good, Daddy, so warm and wet and tight. I’m taking my finger so easy, Ash, just swallowing it up. Do you want to fuck me, Daddy? Ruin me with your cock? I need that too, Daddy, need you to fuck me, fill me. I need another finger, Ash. _Please_ , Daddy, let me have another."

“Yeah, use two.” Ashton chokes out. He can feel warmth building in his stomach, can feel sunshine lighting up his veins.

Michael whimpers. “I still need more, Daddy. I need you, need your cock. I bet you would fill me up so good, fuck me so hard I would still feel you a week later.” There's another moan, and this one sounds almost pained. “Oh fuck, Daddy! Daddy, I found it!” 

“Good boy, you're doing so well for me, Mikey.” Ashton is so fucking close it’s unreal, can feel his whole body vibrating with it. His tongue feels swollen, eyelids heavy. His wrist is starting to hurt with how quickly he’s moving it. He’s so slick with precum that his hand is just gliding over his stiff prick, the only friction coming from how tight his grip is.

Michael is chanting now, incoherent as he touches his prostate with his fingertips over and over. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy! Need to cum, Ash, please let me cum.” Michael begs.

“Let go, baby, come for me. Come for Daddy.” Ashton groans, and it’s the scream of his name that sends him over the edge and he's blacking out with bliss, spilling over his hand and onto his stomach. 

Ashton is brought out of his reverie by a low, tinny chuckle. “That was fun, Ashton. Or should I call you Daddy?” 

Ashton rolls his eyes. “No, you shouldn't. It was fun. Did you actually-?” 

“Uh huh.” Michael replies, and he sounds smug. Ashton can imagine the smirk on his face- not that he even knows what Michael looks like. 

Fuck, Michael could be a sixty year old pervert. “Hey, Michael, if you don't mind me asking, how old are you?” 

“Why do you want to know, baby? Thinking about romancing me? Making this a real thing?” Ashton almost laughs out loud. 

“I was just wondering whether a seventy year old got me off.” Michael laughs at that, and it's nice, wholehearted laughter. Michael’s got a cute laugh, like a giggle. That's a weird train of thought, one Ashton shouldn't really be pursuing. 

“Not seventy. I’m 20, actually.” 

“Okay. That's relieving then.” Ashton can't help but smile into his phone. He probably looks a dick, sat in the dark and grinning like an idiot but he doesn't really care.

“Now. I hope you're not expecting any more secrets from me, Ashton. Not if I’m getting nothing in return.”

“You wouldn't call that orgasm repayment?” Ashton asks, teasing back.

“Not if I got you off too. That's a transaction, Ash. Orgasm for an orgasm. So, I need a secret of yours in return." Michael hums, obviously thinking for a moment. "Was that the best orgasm of your life?” He asks, finally.

Ashton simply coughs in response. “Good night, Michael.” 

“Night night, Ashton. And if you ever fancy another… Conversation… Well, you know who to call.” 

Ashton hangs up, exhales a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Well fuck.


	2. you got me stressed out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashton joins a band.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I'm so sorry for how late this is? I say I'm going to update weekly and then of course my personal and academic life both spiral out of control. Also over a thousand people read my last chapter which is absolutely crazy??? I'm sorry for making you wait so long, I hope this isn't too shitty. It's some plot building, basically, and then smut because well, what would this fic be without that?

When Ashton wakes up the weight of his actions the night before hits him like a sucker punch to the gut. 

He'd called a sex hotline. Shit. He was one of those people, now. But it hasn't felt like he'd expected it to, honestly. There had been no bullshit, no ‘I'm stroking your penis. Now I'm kissing your neck.' It had been real, or at least it had felt like it was real. 

But fuck, anyway. Anyway, he has to just like, put it in his shame box and lock the memories away for ten million years. He needs to just stop thinking about it, never ever think about it again for as long as he lives. He's going to forget Michael's voice, forget that the best orgasm of his life came from a guy who didn't even touch him. He's going to forget all of it. That's the plan, anyway. 

The plan is… The plan is a work in progress, honestly, because he wakes up covered in jizz. So, yeah, it's a little hard to forget about his orgasm when the physical proof that it happened still stains his skin. 

A shower is definitely in order, and he's not going to do what he usually does when he steps beneath the fall of water and just let his mind drift- he knows exactly where it will drift to. He puts on a dressing gown before he ventures out of his room- he's not going to chance letting Calum see him like this, in this total state of shame and debauchery. That's a line he's not willing to cross. Calum has seen him plastered, has seen him with vomit in his hair and down his front, has seen him in various states of undress and has seen him crying, twice now. Calum, however, is not going to see his jizz. That's where the line is drawn- that's how low his barrier is. It's a little sad. 

He creeps barefoot to the bathroom, sneaking around like he's in a damn spy movie. His name's Irwin- Ashton Irwin. Anyway. Calum's not out of bed yet, or at least he's not in the lounge or the kitchen. And, well, those are the only other rooms beside their bedrooms and the bathroom, so Ashton is reasonably safe. Not safe enough to untie the dressing gown, but safe enough to walk at, you know, normal human speed. 

He sets up his playlist and his timer before he steps in the shower, makes sure there's a towel on hand for when he gets out. 

The water is perfect when he steps under the spray: it's not the scalding hot Calum seems to love, nor is it as cold as his crappy shower last year in student housing. It's just- it's nice. He likes showering, even if it is just to clean dried cum off of his abs. Well, he says abs. He assumes that they're still there, but lately he's been neglecting his gym time in favour of, well in favour of doing fuck all, really. He's been meaning to get back to it, but as with everything in his life right now, the gap between what he needs to do compared to the amount of time he has is increasing.

He's singing along quietly to the Green Day song his iPhone had selected and shampooing his hair. His hair is one of the few things he's managed to like, not neglect and he wishes he could say the same for his school work. He has a fucking hair care routine. He's basically a beauty guru. Move the fuck over, Zoella. So he's singing and shampooing and just generally having a blast when suddenly there's a pounding on the door. 

"Ashton! Ashton, come out here for a second!" It's Calum, which is relieving, because for a short moment Ashton actually believed that he was going to be murdered. And nobody wants to die naked. 

Ashton grumbles but turns off the shower- he's only been in for two minutes, which is hardly a fair amount of hot water allowance. 

He's dripping wet and shivering with cold now that he's out of the forgiving warmth of his shower, so he wraps his towel around his waist and steps into the hallway. "What the fuck do you want, Calum? I was showering." 

Calum just looks at him, this withering, soul destroying glare. If looks could kill he'd be in a body bag right about now. "No, shit, really?"

Ashton sighs. It's too early for Calum's shit: it's actually always too early for Calum's shit. "What is it, Cal?" 

"You're never going to believe this but you just got an email from your music professor. Apparently you have to take an instrument with you to school today-" 

"And this couldn't wait until I was out of the shower, because…" Ashton is growing colder and more impatient by the second. His nipples are fucking rocks.

"Because your professor will kick you off your course if you don't find a band to perform with. Today." Calum grimaces.

Ashton blanches. "You're fucking with me, right?" 

"Even I'm not that much of an asshole." Calum shakes his head pityingly.

"But I don't know anybody in the class I don't even think Bessie is tuned and-" and okay, Ashton might be getting hysterical but like, his life is over..

"Just get back in the shower, Ash. Yelling at me is wasting time and you're dripping all over the damn floor. If downstairs complains then you're paying for ceiling repairs." 

And it's just. Again? Really? As if yesterday hadn't been bad enough.

He gets back in the shower regardless, can't enjoy it any more because he's too busy stressing about his fucking practical. This sucks. His life is a huge, giant suck fest, and it's not even sucky enough for him to profit from. He's not been like, mugged or stabbed or kidnapped or anything, just had his life ruined by Calum and his professor. This is what his life has become, he realises: daydreaming about having a life hard enough to sell to tabloids. College.

~

He's running through the corridor, yelling apologies as he slams into other people but not once turning back. If he doesn't make it to his classroom with time to spare he won't find a band, and if he doesn't find a band he's going to fail his music class. 

What kind of fucking teacher gives no warning before announcing something like this? What kind of fucked up, evil, twisted person enjoys watching teenage dreams crashing and burning?

At least, Ashton assumes he's going to crash and burn. He keeps a low profile in his music class: turns up, participates only as much as is necessary and doesn't attempt to socialise. There are way too many established friendship groups for Ashton to really fit in, and so far he's been fine with that. Today though, his anti-social behaviour calls for drastic measures. 

He yells as soon as he opens the door, "who needs a drummer?" and he's met with incredulous stares and outright laughter. There's a veritable sea of faces looking at him right now and he scans them, looking for even a fraction of sympathy. He doesn't need to scan for long.

"We do, actually," and is that a British accent? Ashton turns his head so quickly he probably snapped his neck, not that he's going to waste time thinking about injuries when he's got a band to form. There's a boy, probably his age with unruly chocolate brown hair and an award winning smile, staring at him in vague amusement. 

"Who's we?" Ashton asks, vaguely suspicious but undoubtedly intrigued. And also desperate.

The boy smiles even more, a feat Ashton would have called impossible if he'd not seen it himself. It reaches his eyes this time and craters form in his cheeks. "Well, I'm Harry," Ashton nods his acknowledgement, "and this is Geordie." He gestures somewhat lazily to the girl sat beside him. 

"Ashton. Ash." He smiles nervously. "You can call me either." Ashton takes the seat beside Harry, though it's not so much beside him as it is opposite the both of them. It feels like a job interview; kind of is a job interview. 

Geordie looks to be around his age as well, and she has dark blonde hair falling into eyes that are nowhere close to sparkling with the joy in Harry's. Geordie doesn't smile at Ashton, just stares at him, calculating. She's unnerving in the sense that Ashton can't tell what conclusions she's reaching. 

"So, you drum?" is what she offers finally and Ashton grasps at it with both hands. 

"Yeah, yes. Have since I was about 10 years old, I guess." She purses her lips. 

Harry offers him a warm smile. "So what would you want to play? A specific genre?" he enquires.

Ashton shakes his head, "I'll play anything. Put sheet music in front of me and I'm good." 

Harry and Geordie turn to look at each other. They do the whole conversation with their eyes thing so well it's actually frightening to witness. Geordie is eyebrow raises to Harry's nose scrunching, until they're both done. Harry looks triumphant, which Ashton hopes bodes well for him. 

"I sing," Harry starts, "Geordie plays bass and we have another friend who's going to play guitar. We're quite desperate for a drummer, really, and we're not going to turn people away without hearing them play first." Ashton assumes he's people, he's them. They want him to play something. 

"There's a kit in the practice room. When the professor gets here I can show you how I play?" Ashton suggests. 

Geordie shrugs, which is the most positive thing Ashton's seen her do so far. "Okay, Ringo. You better blow me away." Harry elbows her in the rib. 

"Don't scare him off, Geord. He's the missing piece." 

Ashton hopes that despite all the objection, Geordie might actually grow to like him. He's not a terrible person, he doesn't think, not on a good day. He's not got the kind of natural charisma somebody like Calum has but he is dynamic enough that it comes across as charming. He wants to charm Geordie, and that right now seems impossible. 

She's gorgeous, is another thing, and Ashton's experiences with beautiful women have proved time and time over that it's natural for them to play the defence to avoid getting fucked over. He thinks that if she knew that she wasn't exactly what he was looking for, that he'd be more inclined to go for Harry than he would for her, that might settle her a little, let her relax more. He's not just going to announce it though, not to people he's just met and who don't really like him. 

No, he'll let his drumming speak first and the rest will fall in line. That's what he's hoping for, anyway. 

~

The professor doesn't take long to explain his project idea- they'll have to compose a piece together, play it and create a music video for it, and the final grade will be based on all of the elements combined. 

After that it's down to business. He leads the way to the practice kit and settles down on to the stool. He plucks a song from his head, chooses a drum heavy Foo Fighters track to showcase his skill. Geordie will know whether Ashton's banging about is mediocre or exceptional, where Harry might as well be deaf. Rhythm section life. 

And, well, Ashton's a poor kid from Buttfuck Nowhere with a free ride to an expensive ass college. He's got talent, bags of it, just isn't as loud and proud as some of the prodigies in his class.

Anyway, he sits down and from then on it's muscle memory, his hands and arms moving in a way he's simultaneously both unaware of and totally focussed on. The sticks are an extension of him, he feels more completely himself behind a drum kit than he does anywhere else. 

He comes back to life when he hears a low whistle. He looks up and it's Geordie not Harry and he suddenly realised winning her over might be easier than he first thought. 

She smiles, though it's half smirk, "shit, dude. You can fucking play." 

Ashton just shrugs. "I'm not bad." 

Harry laughs. "Ashton, if we have you then I feel bad for the rest of them." He claps his hands together. "Our mate is gonna fucking love you. He loves the Foo Fighters." 

Ashton balks but luckily neither of them are looking at him. The two of them are giggling, suggesting covers to play and band names. It's just- it's just fuck. Him and Michael had spent a solid fifteen minutes talking about the Foo Fighters last night- that's probably why he's subconsciously selected that rhythm. He'd successfully forgotten all about Michael and his delicious fucking voice and his incredibly talented imagination and, well. Now he's been reminded of it he can't stop thinking about it, hears the moans like Michael is still on the other side of their phone call.

Fuck. How is he supposed to concentrate now? But, he supposes they've done as much today as they really can while they're missing their fourth member. So, he remembers exchanging numbers with Harry and Geordie, remembers vaguely walking out of the practice room with a band, now. 

He can still kind of remember the shuddering, jolting train journey home, but it's all a blur. The only clear thing is Michael's voice saying his name and calling him… Calling him that, asking him for permission and begging and whining and- fuck. 

Fuck, he's glad he's home and Calum's not because he's at half mast already. If this had been any other day he'd have gone to the shower to tug himself off but now all he can think about is Michael's voice. 

And it's- it's weird to say the least. He's not necessarily picturing anybody when he's picturing Michael, has nobody specific in mind. His jerk off images are usually disjointed- he sees a faceless man whose hair colour fluctuates, body type changes, skin tone, even, is hardly ever static. He sees porn stars from the stuff he used to watch, sees hot actors or models and occasionally, though only extremely rarely, he sees Luke.

It's not about Michael creating pictures in his head so much, not about the role play stuff. It's about what he's saying, the open discussion of all of Ashton's darkest fantasies and the way he says it. It's his voice. It wouldn't work if it wasn't Michael, if it wasn't for the slightly raspy way Michael says his name. 

So he's ringing, clothes discarded and towel at the ready. He's not making that mistake twice. And besides, the whole thing has to be over and done with before Calum gets home from his History lecture at 2:00, so Ashton really does not have the time to fuck around. 

"Hello this is Michael-"

"Mike," he says, breathing heavily already.

"Oh, Ashton!" He can actually hear the happiness in Michael's voice. "I've been waiting for you to call." 

"Sorry, been a bit busy." Ashton answers, vague and noncommittal. 

"Busy with what? Work, school, _boyfriend_?" he teases.

Ashton laughs nervously. "School, just school. Definitely not a boyfriend." 

"Are you going to expand?" Michael asks sarcastically. He's met with silence. 

"Okay, anyway. You're obviously not feeling very chatty today, Ashton. Straight down to business?" Ashton feels almost like he's hurt Michael, upset him with his unwillingness to elaborate about the details of his mundane life. 

Ashton sighs. "I just don't have a very interesting life, that's all." he murmurs. 

"And I do?" Michael replies. Ashton thinks it over in his head for a second, wonders why he's so worried about impressing Michael. 

"I just have a psycho professor is all, he wants us to do a group task for part of our assessment but I'm not friends with anybody in the class so I'm in a group with two total strangers, and one of them actively dislikes me." Ashton breathes deeply when he's finished offloading, realises that he'd barely even stopped to breathe for the duration of his sentence.

"And you want me to take your mind off it, right?" Michael replies and Ashton can hear his smirk again.

"If you can." Ashton offers, a challenge he knows Michael will accept.

"I have a few ideas, Daddy." Michael preens.

Ashton would be lying if he said he wasn't already hard; he works himself up too quickly for his own good. He thinks he got into it too fast yesterday, shoved his hands in his pants with no finesse about him. So today he's going to draw it out, tease himself like he knows Michael will tease him. Acutely aware that this is the beginning, Ashton trails hands over the expanse of his sensitive chest. His hands leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake and he shudders at the feeling.

"I want to do this a little differently than last night, is that okay?" Michael asks somewhat tentatively. 

Ashton has to admit he's intrigued, and well… Let's just say that Ashton wholeheartedly believes in Michael's ability to make him come. "Yeah, okay sure." Ashton's moving slightly more purposefully now, drawing circles over his pecs and around his nipples.

"I was thinking about what would have made yesterday better- not just for you but for me as well. I could only think of one thing that would have made me come harder- aside from if you'd been here with me, of course." Ashton likes the faith Michael has in his abilities. He himself has less of that same faith. He's pinching his nipples now, moaning with relief and pleasure at the sensation. It feels fucking good to be this turned on but not giving himself much, not properly touching himself- just tugging torturously slowly on his nipples. 

"And, well. I have pretty small hands, Daddy, so it's not very easy for me to find that special place." Ashton thinks he knows where this is going, is already groaning before Michael finishes talking. 

"I have a few toys that I like to play with but this one is my favourite. I don't use him too often, Daddy, I don't last very long if I do, but it seems like you're already quite worked up."

Fucking hell. That's hot. That's insanely, ridiculously fucking hot.

"Fuck, baby, tell me about it? What makes you come so quick? Do you touch yourself when you're using it?" Apparently the ghost is back, and Ashton is once more a dirty talking pro. His hands move to his cock, finally, and it feels like he's drowning after a week in the desert. 

"I don't have to, usually," Michael replies nonchalantly. "This toy is my favourite because it's big, Daddy, it's big and thick and when it's inside me it presses right against my spot and feels so good. Can I play with it, Daddy? Pretty please?" 

Is he- is he fucking kidding? Ashton is going to die. Die, right here, in a state of thorough debauchery, all because of Michael.

"Fuck, yes, fuck." Ashton chokes, slowly stroking his cock with his fist curled into a loose circle. He's not giving himself much, he's already so hard he's throbbing and he wants to see this thing though. 

"Want to know a secret, first?" Michael doesn't let him reply. "I fingered myself already, before you called. I started slowly, just like you told me to, one finger at a time until I could barely hold it together- but I did. I didn't cum, Daddy, just plugged myself for you so that I'd be ready when you called." The pride is actually seeping from Michael's voice which is a hell of a lot for Ashton's boner to deal with. 

"I think you'd like my plug; it's very pretty, got a big diamond on the end of it. Would you like to see it, Daddy?" Ashton would fucking love to see it, loves even the idea of Michael keeping himself open and easy for Ashton.

"Shit, Michael, sounds so fucking pretty. So pretty for Daddy, princess." Ashton's grip tightens slightly, he gives himself more friction but continues with his tortuous pace, stroking himself from tip to base and making sure he catches all of himself with a twist of his wrist.

"Can I play now? Please?" Michael begs, and Ashton had forgotten that he wasn't already fucking himself. 

"Yeah go ahead, baby." He indulges, waiting with bated breath for a physical reaction from Michael.

Michael moans, high and prolonged. "Fuck, Daddy it feels so good. So fucking good." he sobs.

Ashton feels like sobbing himself. "How good does it feel, baby? Talk to me." Ashton speeds up his movements but only a fraction, gives himself something more but nothing close to what he wants. He wants to be furiously fucking his own fist until he comes, settles instead for relaxed, teasing strokes with no urgency. 

"So good, so good, so full. Fuck, Daddy even a cock that's not yours, not even real, still feels so good." Ashton won't be able to get that out of his head- ever, he thinks. He's never been with a guy who seems to love taking anything up the ass as much as Michael does. He's desperate for it, gagging for cock every second of every day. Fuck me.

"Fuck, such a good little cockslut, Mikey." Ashton grunts, finally starting to tease precum from his neglected tip. 

"Do you wish it was you I was full of, Daddy? Do you wish it was your cock inside of me making me feel good? Wish you were here with me, pinning me down and stuffing me full of your dick?" Ashton wishes with all of his heart that that was the case. 

"Shit, yeah baby, want to fuck you so bad." He fondles his balls a little, fighting the urge to give in and fuck his hand.

"Yeah? Would you be gentle with me, Daddy, or would you be rough with me, fuck me hard and deep? I think I'd prefer it the second way, Daddy, prefer it if you fucked me dirty." Michael's voice is torture in itself. It fluctuates so suddenly that Ashton never knows what to expect- one minute Michael's voice is airy, high and light and tortured and then not even seconds later it's throaty and low and sensual.

Fuck it. He's not going to last much longer anyway. Ashton starts going for it now, fucking his fist in a frenzy.

"Shit, Mikey, such a fucking slut," Ashton groans, "such a naughty little boy."

"I think you should punish me, Daddy, I've been so bad." Ashton is almost crying. Fuck, he needs to find somebody this willing to submit to him in real life. That kind of sex would be fucking incredible if he's managing to get off just at the thought of it.

"Fuck, do you want me to spank you, baby?" Ashton's got obscenely large hands- 'hands the size of dustbin lids' Calum has told him. His hands were made for spanking, essentially and it's a crime really that they've been wasted for so long.

"That's not much of a punishment, Daddy," Michael giggles, "I love spanking." 

Ashton's stomach falls to his feet. "Shit, really?" He groans, stroking the underside of his cock-head. He's so close, now, could come in seconds. 

"Uh huh." Michael affirms, voice breathy and broken by a moan.

Ashton weeps. "Fuck, that's so hot."

"H-how close are you, Daddy?" Michael stammers, and Ashton can tell that his prolonged assault on his prostrate must be taking something out of him. Ashton's nearly there though, the tell-tale warmth in his lower stomach alerting him of his imminent orgasm.

"So close baby, so fucking close." Ashton promises.

"Me too Daddy, me too. Touching myself and fucking myself just like you would, like you want to. Do you want to touch my cock, Daddy? I know you want to fuck me but would you touch me too? Suck me off? Leave me broken, leave me so I don't even remember my name. Do you want that, Daddy?" Ashton wants it all. Wants _everything_ with Michael, would quite happily give him the world in exchange for this one orgasm.

"So close Michael-" 

"Fuck, me too, me too, me too," Michael chants, a scratched CD. "Feels so good, Daddy, so full."

"Michael," Ashton moans brokenly, just for the sake of it really, because he can't _not_ : "come for me, baby." 

And the worst part is he fucking _does_. Michael comes on command, crying out as his orgasm hits, chanting Ashton's name until it's an incoherent jumble.

Obviously that sets Ashton off too, the warmth in his stomach consuming him completely. There are supernovas behind his eyelids and fire rushing through his veins- he's talking but he's not quite sure what he's actually saying out loud, aware of nothing but the pleasure.

He comes down, breathing heavily, and reaches for the towel to wipe himself clean. 

"Ashton? Are you still there?" It's Michael, voice soft and practically gentle in the aftermath of their second exchange. 

Ashton coughs to clear his throat, somewhat self conscious now his mind is clear. "Yeah, I'm still here." 

"Do you feel better?" And the thing is- it sounds like a genuine question, not teasing and laced with innuendos. Like Michael actually cares about his emotional state, rather than his performance. That's a path Ashton won't let his mind wander down. 

"I feel fucking amazing," he replies bluntly, almost laughing at his own honesty. 

Michael coughs quietly. "Good. I'm, uh- I'm glad you're okay."

Ashton smiles despite himself. "Thank you." Why the fuck is he suddenly shy and sheepish? How has this happened- has the spirit of the hooker left him? Is his game gone? Well, whatever the cause, Ashton has reverted to his natural state of embarrassment and awkwardness which means that this conversation needs to be over and forgotten about as soon as possible. 

"I fucking love rock music." Michael states. 

"What?" Ashton replies because… what?

"You told me something personal, before you got off. So I'm exchanging facts with you. I fucking love rock music." Michael explains.

Ashton smiles to himself again. "That makes sense. And me too, for the record." 

A conversation sparks then, the both of them discussing music and their music tastes: surprisingly similar- worryingly so. Ashton just feels this bond, this connection with Michael. Not just on a sexual level either, though that obviously doesn't hurt. And it's crazy, because he doesn't even know what Michael looks like, or where he lives or anything about him except his age and music taste. And yet- it's still there, lingering, this underlying chemistry. Ashton will go nuts if he thinks too hard about how he's not felt this connected to another person since he dated his last boyfriend.

There's a shared moment of static, neither of them saying anything but neither of them hanging up.

"Can I expect another call tomorrow, Ashton?" Michael finally asks.

Ashton doesn't have an answer. "We'll see." He's going for mysterious and intriguing but he probably just sounds like a prick. Oh well. 

A door slams, Ashton's only warning that he's no longer alone. "Ashton?" Calum's home, which means Ashton really does not have the time to gab with Michael like he wants to. 

"I've got to go, Michael." He says and he actually feels apologetic. He doesn't want to not be talking to Michael.

"Nice talking to you, Ash." Michael hangs up. 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckety fucking fuck. Ashton needs to pull himself together and soon. He picks up his boxers and a tee off the floor, slaps himself with his hands to shock himself back into sense. 

"Pull yourself together, Irwin." He mutters.

"Ash?" Calum calls again, more insistent this time.

Ashton sighs. "Yeah I'm coming now, Cal!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you should talk to me !!!! mashlumtrash on tumblr. won't bite unless you're into it and there are safe words and stuff.


	3. hanging with some girls I've bever seen before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashton goes on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so soooo sorry that this took so long! Basically I had like a massive crisis about like life in general and then this fic specifically. 
> 
> But on the bright side, the plot line to this has thickened considerably so more fic for everybody yay! 
> 
> Just to tell you: there is no mashton in this chapter and no smut either. 
> 
> Irregardless, I hope you enjoy!

At this point, Ashton is used to the thundering of his footsteps and the biting chill of a morning run. He's definitely used to the tightness of his lungs and the clouds of breath he expels into the air, used to the steady but fast beating of his heart. Ashton _is_ used to running in the morning, he swears he is. His body clock, however, is not used to it, which is why his route factors in a stop at Starbucks for a triple shot espresso. 

He’s catching his breath as he waits in line when out of nowhere- 

“Ashton?” 

Holy shit. “Luke!” Ashton dies on the spot, locks onto the expression of shock Luke is wearing. However, not even a second later Luke frowns and steps away from the counter. 

“There's your coffee. Enjoy.” From Luke’s mouth ‘enjoy’ sounds a lot like ‘choke’. Ashton isn't going to pretend he doesn't deserve that. 

Ashton lowers his voice to a murmur and looks deep into Luke’s ridiculously stunning blue eyes. “Listen, Luke, I know you're not going to want to hear this and you probably won't believe me, but I did try and call you last week.” 

Luke scoffs. “No really, I swear I did!” Ashton exclaims earnestly. “It's just that the piece of paper you gave me got ruined so I lost your number. I mean, for god's sake it took me three months to get it, dammit, I would not have stood you up.” 

Luke stops, stares at Ashton with suspicion etched on his face. “Three months? Really?” 

Ashton nods, “I swear, I got coffee every day for three months after the day we first met because I wanted to speak to you again. I promise I'm not bullshitting- ask one of your coworkers. I swear on my _life_.” 

Luke sighs. “Okay, fine. If I believe you, if I give you another chance will you actually call me this time?” Luke looks so sad, is all, so sad and disappointed and _lonely_. Ashton hates himself for being the cause of the emptiness behind Luke’s eyes. 

“I’ll do you one better,” Ashton offers, “I’ll take you out tonight. 7pm; I’ll pick you up and everything.” Luke smiles bashfully, and Ashton notices that his feet curl in towards each other as he does. Well, that's _fucking_ adorable.

“Pick me up from where? Unless you've been stalking me you shouldn't know where I live.” Luke jokes. 

Ashton hums in consideration. “Okay, fair point. I’ll tell you what- I'll give you my number, this time. I wouldn't call myself a reliable candidate.” Luke laughs at that, and Ashton can feel his own grin overtaking his face. “So, you can text me your address. And I'll pick you up at 7.” Ashton backs away from the counter, espresso in hand.

“Okay.” Luke says quietly, smiling a little.

“Okay. See you at seven.” Ashton counter offers, quickly downing his drink and then walking out of the shop before he fucks up too royally.

His phone buzzes before the door is finished closing behind him. 

_This is Luke- don't lose my number this time ;)_

Ashton smiles at his phone, shaking his head fondly. He almost instantaneously realises that he's one of _those_ people now. He can't find it in him to care.

 

~

 

“Hang on a second- you’re going on a date with barista boy? Tonight?” Calum summarises, narrowing his eyes at Ashton. He's retaken his perch atop of Ashton’s bed, is sat amongst piles of clothing that Ashton has deemed unworthy for his date with Luke. “How is that fucking fair? You don't text him back or make any effort to speak to him again for a whole fucking week and he still wants to date you? You're not that special.” 

Ashton slaps his best friend upside the head. Calum goes to hit him back and Ashton steps away, hands up in surrender. “Okay, a, it was your fault I didn't text him you dickhead. And b, because I'm fucking incredible, Calum, obviously.” Ashton's cheeks hurt but he just can't stop grinning. 

Calum grumbles. “Whatever. Just because you're getting laid tonight.” 

And shit, Ashton is definitely getting laid- if not tonight then soon. Fuck yes, universe.

Ashton puts on his most irritating baby voice and squishes Calum’s face. “Awwww, is wittle Cal-Pal grumpy?” 

Calum is seething. Ashton knows when to step off. “You’ll find somebody soon, Cal. Promise.” He was supposed to sound caring but realises too late that he just sounds condescending.

“Shut the fuck up with this love guru bullshit, Ashton. You're going on a date. You're not fucking married.” Calum replies, jaw set. 

Ashton wolf whistles. “Shit, sorry. Hit a nerve there I guess. Just trying to be a supportive friend.” 

“You can support my fucking ass.” Calum deadpans, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Only if you support mine.” Ashton replies, grinning in that overly happy irritating way he does sometimes, just to piss Calum off that little bit more.

When Calum steps closer towards him he’s pretty sure it worked. “I’m gonna take a shower, cool off.” Ashton announces, stepping backwards in response. “Got a hot date tonight, after all.” He winks, then turns on his heels towards the bathroom. 

-

All pretence of confidence has evaporated. Ashton is fucking terrified. He's wearing the floor down, pacing in an attempt to stop himself from vomiting. It's just- it's just that he's been into Luke for So. Fucking. Long. What if Luke thinks he’s annoying? What if Luke- “what if he hates me, Calum?” whines Ashton. 

"Well, then you'd know he was sane." Ashton glares at him. “Look, you could still get a hate-fuck.” Calum offers optimistically. Ashton scoffs. 

He still has no idea where they're going to go, what they're going to do. He's broke as shit and he's probably going to have to pay for Luke and… And he's freaking out again. 

Ashton glowers. “You're not cute and you're not funny.”

“And insulting me is obviously going to help you.” Calum fills in.

Ashton sighs. “Right. Sorry. I'm just-” he's a lot of things. He’s a hot mess, for lack of a better description. He's not really got the time to think of a nice metaphor, so he'll go with the cliche. 

“Nervous? Anxious? Scared?” Calum offers, only half sincere. “Uh… Worried? Perplexed? Did I use that right?” Ashton nods. “Perplexed?”

“All of the above.” Ashton says, and then he groans loudly in an excellent impression of an over-dramatic teenager. He's only wearing boxer shorts, still basically naked; stressed and disorganised and losing his fucking mind. If that's what Luke is looking for in a romantic partner, Ashton is a shoe-in. 

“Right.” Calum starts, and he sounds like he's getting down to business. “Right. Let's think about it for a second, Ash.”

Ashton sits on the floor, cross legged like a small child. He feels like a small child. He wants his Mum, a little bit.

“Where would you want to go on a date? If somebody was taking you out on a first date, where's the first place that pops into your head?” he offers.

“I, uh, maybe- maybe the movies?” stammers Ashton.

Calum nods thoughtfully. “Okay, okay. So are we looking at a classic sitting at the back of the theatre making out scenario?” 

Ashton frowns. “I don't know. Hopefully?” 

“Yes! That's good! Hope is good.” Calum exclaims. “Do you know what's on tonight?” 

“Admittedly- no. But it can't be like, terrible, right?” 

Calum pulls up the Cineworld website on his phone. “So your options are ‘Pride, Prejudice and Zombies’ or ‘Alvin and the Chipmunks, the Roadchip.” 

“So, it can be terrible. It is terrible. Everything is terrible and I don't have time to plan another fucking date so- so we’re going to have to go to the cinema. Fuck. Help me choose an outfit at least?” 

Calum gestures wordlessly to his own outfit of choice- joggers and a football shirt.

Ashton hates his roommate- he knows that he says it a lot, says it when he doesn't mean it. This time is different. Calum is a prick. “Okay, fine, point taken. Fuck off.” 

-

Luke looks incredible. He’s not wearing a beanie for the first time and it turns out he's got super pretty, soft looking hair that falls kind of flat against his forehead. It's cute. He's wearing a black button up that does absolute wonders for his actually rather broad frame, and it sets off his pale skin perfectly. And the pants, fucking hell, the pants. If Ashton couldn't see the seams he would assume they’d been painted on. Luke’s got fucking amazing legs, legs Ashton wants hitched up around his shoulders. 

He flounders, momentarily. “You look- you look, uh, wow, Luke,” 

Luke smiles, gets the message Ashton so eloquently delivers. “Thank you. You look nice too.” 

Ashton nods stiffly. “Uh, I was thinking we could go to the movies, maybe? If that's okay with you? If you don't want to we don’t have to, we can go somewhere else. Anywhere else, really. I'm not fussed.” Ashton interrupts himself, horror painted comically across his face. “Not that I don't want to be here with you, I absolutely do!” he assures Luke, who’s smiling a bit too fondly at Ashton, despite his long and rambly outburst. “I just don't mind what we do. But I want to do _something_. Really. Promise.”

“I believe you.” Luke replies, still smiling, and Ashton is set at ease. 

“Shall we?” He asks, all at once feeling like a fictional prince and a massive dickwad for actually saying that aloud. Luke nods and Ashton opens the car door for him.

Once they're both sat down, belts on, heating cranked way up, Luke turns to face him. “So what are the options?” 

“Huh. Funny story that,” Ashton announces, and begins to explain their limited choice in movie options. Luke giggles as Ashton talks, and it's probably too endearing for Ashton’s own good. He likes this, likes having somebody to laugh at his shitty jokes, someone whose eyes actually light up when he says something corny or dumb. Luke has a nice laugh as well, a little squeaky but completely adorable. 

Fuck, Ashton really likes Luke.

And yes, there have been three months of lead up but it still feels very sudden, still feels like Ashton’s feelings had given him absolutely no warning before they punched him in the gut. 

They watch the zombie movie and it's as shit as Ashton had thought it would be. Luke doesn't seem to particularly enjoy the gore and buries his head in Ashton’s shoulder whenever a particularly bloody scene begins. He whimpers occasionally, and though Ashton’s first thought is less than PG, he puts his arm around Luke’s shoulder to pull him in closer, protect him a little. Ashton prays that Luke can't hear how quickly his heart beats with Luke’s soft hair tickling his jaw. 

The thing is, Ashton hasn't properly paid attention to the film since it began, distracted by the overwhelming notion of Feelings. He likes Luke a lot, basically, and although he had been aware of that, it had seemed like more of a concept. Ashton Has Feelings For Barista Boy. 

Now, here, with Luke actually cuddled into his fucking chest (despite how uncomfortable it must be with the armrest between their chairs), his feelings have never felt more genuine. 

~

The drive home is a battle between his urge to drive quickly so he can go home and cry about his feelings and his urge to pull over and kiss Luke for about ten years.

He's ridiculously kissable, is the issue, talking animatedly about his day at work. Ashton adds the occasional comment, tries to make Luke laugh just to hear the sound again. He's sappy as fuck and Calum would totally make fun of him if he was here. 

The drive is nowhere near long enough and so what feels like seconds later they're pulling up outside of Luke’s apartment block. 

“I had a really nice time tonight,” Ashton says, ever the cliche. 

Luke smiles softly. “Me too. Even though that movie was terrible.” 

“Oh come on, you didn't watch any of it!” Ashton teases, and Luke flushes red.

“Yeah, I'm uh, sorry about using you as a pillow. I don't really like scary movies.” And he looks chastised, like genuinely apologetic which is just not what Ashton wanted at all. He fucking loved it. 

“No it was fine. More than fine, actually.” Ashton admits, wringing his hands a little to distract from Luke’s intense gaze. He can't stray for long. He looks back up, stares into the depths of Luke’s breathtaking eyes for a second. They seem to be trying to tell him something, and if he's getting the right message he thinks he knows what’s about to happen. He hopes he’s subtle when his eyeliner wanders a bit, and he's looking at Luke’s plush lips. 

It's not subtle. Far from subtle. Luke’s breath hitches and Ashton takes that as his cue. “Luke,” he says, voice low and quiet as not to disturb the atmosphere that's settled between them in the car. “I really would like to kiss you right now. Would it be okay if I did?” He gauges Luke's reaction, and if the eager nod and the lean forward means anything, Luke wants this as much as Ashton does. 

The rest is easy. Their lips meet and within moments Ashton’s hand is cupping Luke’s jaw, pulling him impossibly closer. Luke moans into the kiss as Ashton bites at the black lip ring that's been driving him up the wall all night. Ashton’s other arm trails down to Luke’s waist, aligning their bodies. Luke takes the hint, clambers over the console and onto Ashton’s chair, straddling him without breaking the now extremely heated kiss. 

Luke pulls back, breathing heavily. “I guess I’m not really- I don't usually do this but- do you want to come inside?” Fuck yeah does Ashton want to come inside. 

But… fuck. This is all moving very, very quickly. And now, call him old fashioned but it feels to him like he should probably get to know Luke a bit more before dicks get involved. See, he does have substance.

Fuck, he's actually about to turn down sex. 

Luke is still looking at him expectantly, “Shit, you have no idea how badly I want this Luke,” Luke rolls his eyes, sensing Ashton's hesitance. “No, _really_ : I just don't want to rush into it.” 

“Who says we’re rushing?” Luke mutters throatily, nipping at the spot behind and Ashton’s ear. 

“My fucking boner says we’re rushing.” Ashton replies, and Luke smiles a shit eating grin in response, grinds down hard against Ashton’s crotch. “Luke,” Ashton groans, gritting his teeth and thinking desperately of gross things. Roadkill. His Grandma. Calum’s ass. Ashton resorts to begging. “Please. Not now. I promise you I want this- you can fucking feel that I want this, but it's too soon. I’m sorry.” 

Luke extracts himself from Ashton awkwardly, coughing as he hunches back into the passenger seat. “Well, that was embarrassing.” 

Ashton groans, rushes to reassure him. “No, no, Luke it wasn't! Believe me. I'm just- I'm trying to be a good guy.” He laughs, “hard to believe, I know.” 

Luke smiles again, comes out of himself a bit. “Okay, Prince Charming.” 

“I still want to kiss you,” Ashton murmurs. “Think I will always want to kiss you from now on.” He admits, more as an aside to himself than anything else. 

"Fine by me.” Luke smirks, and leans in again. The kiss isn't as heated this time but is somehow more passionate. Ashton licks slowly into Luke's mouth, throws his everything into this kiss. They both know it's not leading anywhere, are just kissing to feel close to one another. It's nice. Ashton thinks kissing should be way more hyped up than it actually is. 

Ashton ends it this time, pecking Luke’s lips a few times before he totally pulls away. 

“I should probably go,” he sighs, “but I’ll text you when I'm home. Promise.” 

Luke nods, kisses Ashton one more time. “‘Kay. Night, Ash.”

“Night, Luke.” 

He watches Luke get out the car and walk up the front steps of his building. He waves at Luke as he enters and as soon as the front door shuts behind him Ashton groans theatrically. 

Fuck. Fucking fuck. He's so screwed. He's so totally fucking screwed that it's almost laughable. Almost. Instead, Ashton’s internal monologue is limited to hysterical screaming. His brain feels like it's on fire. He's in deep with this one, has already fallen way too hard for Luke after a solid three conversations and this one date. He's _so_ screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you should talk to me !!!! mashlumtrash on tumblr. won't bite unless you're into it and there are safe words and stuff.


	4. everybody knows and I feel left out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just like 5k of almost pure smut. Enjoy, I guess?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow hello I'm so sorry that it's almost been an entire month since I've updated this? And 3000 fucking people have read this? Literally insane. And Mashton is such a rare-pair as well. Anyway, I'm sorry for taking 15 years, ALevels are my excuse: school is just ruining my life. 
> 
> But yeah, here's an update I guess? Let me know what you thought in the comments or on tumblr- castawaylive!

Figuratively, yes, Ashton Irwin is screwed. He desperately likes a boy he barely knows and has absolutely no idea what to do about it because he’s an emotionally constipated fucking idiot. 

Literally, however, Ashton is the opposite of screwed. He hasn’t had sex for so long he has probably grown back his virginity. 

In fact the closest thing Ashton has had to sex for- fuck probably about six months at this point- is the few times he's jacked off to the sound of another person’s voice. 

And like a dickhead, he had just turned down the first opportunity for actual skin on skin contact with another human being he’s been given for half a fucking year. 

So really Ashton has no choice in the matter, not when he thinks about it. Of course he would take a partial two way over a sad one way in the shower. And he's still hard- Luke’s neck kissing and grinding combined with replaying all of the conversations he and Michael have had. So, yes. Pulling the car over to call a sex line is totally justifiable. Commendable, really. 

And- and if this is the sixth... conversation he and Michael have had in as many days, why should that mean anything? If he’s technically spoken more to Michael than he has to Luke, so what? Okay, maybe he should really know the guy he has feelings for better than the guy who gets him off via his iPhone, but he doesn't. And it doesn't matter anyway.

And if, just maybe, Ashton is starting to look forward to the conversations he and Michael have before and after they get down to it as much as he looks forward to the actual orgasm, that doesn't matter. 

Yesterday, for example, they’d talked in depth about the pros and cons of Pokemon compared to Digimon. Obviously, Digimon doesn't have the cult following that Pokemon has but it's just a generally far superior- but that's not relevant. 

The point is, Ashton is going to call Michael, tell him a secret of some sort and then jack off in the comfort of his car. 

“You will never believe the fucking whirlwind of a day I have had,” Ashton begins. 

“Ash?” Is Michael’s query, though Ashton is 95% sure the other boy was expecting his call. 

“Yeah, it's me,” Ashton takes a deep breath in preparation for the story he's about to tell. He barely even starts it before Michael’s interrupting.

“Wait, who’s Luke? You’ve never mentioned a Luke before.” And, if Ashton can hear a tinge of jealousy in Michael’s voice it's just because he's a masochist and an optimist and he’d really _like_ to believe that Michael would be jealous. 

“Cute guy, works at the coffee shop near me. Funnily enough, he's the reason I actually called you the first time. But anyway,” Ashton says dismissively, “that's not what I wanted to talk about.” 

Michael hums an acknowledgement so Ashton carries on. “Well, basically, we went on a date and then we were making out in my car and there _may_ have been some minor grinding,” Ashton pauses for effect because he's a melodramatic motherfucker with a propensity for theatrics. “And then he was all ‘we should fuck’ and I _actually_ told him no.” 

“Why would you say no?” Michael asks, all of a sudden interested. Ashton smirks to himself- dramatic pauses work, obviously. He's an excellent story-teller if nothing else. He could work in kids TV.

“Because I'm a fucking idiot.” He says, and laughs quietly. That's not what Ashton’s really used to from Michael, but he’ll take it anyway. “No, not really. I uh- I quite like him and I figured if this is going to go somewhere we’ll fuck anyway, right?” 

 

At least, that's what he's been telling himself. It just feels a little bit like he's lying to himself which just generally makes no sense because what else could it have been? 

Except for- except for the feeling in his gut now, like he's settled, made content by the sound of Michael’s voice- the feeling that hadn't been there with Luke. 

“Right,” Michael replies, quiet again and almost sullen. 

Ashton sighs and complains petulantly “but, like I said, there was grinding and making out and I'm so hard... even though I've literally been sat here talking shit for like an hour now.” Maybe not an hour, actually, but as good as. 

“Okay,” Michael responds, and for a second Ashton thinks that's all he's gonna get. Of course it’s not. His voice dips lower, slightly more husky and doubly seductive. “And what do you think I can do about it, huh?” he teases.

“You could talk to me? You know that's all I need, babe.” Ashton begs.

“Is it though? Is it all you need?” Michael presses. “Because, unless I'm mistaken, each time you’ve called me to get off you've fucked your hand- correct?” 

“Uh, yes,” Ashton responds, a little confused, feels like that's the wrong answer.

“Exactly. So you don't _just_ need my voice…” there's a moment of prolonged, fraught silence. “Unless, of course, you’d be up for the challenge?” Michael inquires. 

“What challenge? I am totally lost,” Ashton laughs, feels like that's the only way to dispel some of the tension building in his chest.

“Coming untouched. I’d say it would be pretty challenging but it's definitely possible.” Michael muses. Ashton swears, throws his head back against the leather headrest. 

“Fuck, Michael,” he groans. 

Coming untouched. Fuck. That's straight from Ashton’s wet dreams, that is. It’s always been a fantasy of his and obviously it’s something Michael has picked up on through his phone sex worker sixth sense.

And okay, it's not a secret that Ashton is a people pleaser. He likes to be chivalrous whenever possible: he opens doors, smiles at strangers on the street, gives money to the homeless people he sees out and about. He's a nice guy. In bed he's no different- he’ll stay between his partners’ legs until they physically push him away. 

He just likes making other people come, loves it when they surrender themselves to pleasure. Largely, it's about the noises. Fuck, even the sound of somebody moaning is enough to get Ashton hot.

When somebody moans or hisses or whines; when somebody is reduced to their animalistic, instinctual reactions and just loses all control, gives up their body to him; that's what gets Ashton off. That's why this phone sex thing works for him. He used to watch porn and close his eyes- just listen to the moaning and whining and jack off to that- this is basically the same but personalised, which is even better.

So the idea of not even touching himself, just relying on the pretty noises Michael makes to bring him to the edge- fuck. Fucking fuck.

He’s tried it before with a partner but in the end was too impatient not to just put his fucking cock in something. So this time, when the other person is literally so detached from him they might not even be in the same time-zone, when even the possibility of skin on skin contact is removed, it feels not only plausible but totally inevitable.

“Oh, you wish, baby,” Michael croons. 

“I do, God, you have no idea,” Ashton replies, laughing bitterly. Well, it's fucking true. If Ashton had a genie he knows exactly what he’d ask for.

“Yeah? Do you dream about it, Daddy?” Michael whispers seductively. “Do you dream about fucking me? I dream about you, Ash. You in bed with me, fucking me again and again until I'm screaming because it’s toomuchtoomuchtoomuch,” Michael sobs. 

Ashton is so fucking hard, so aware of it and the fact that he could take off some of the edge if he just pulled down his jeans. He won’t, isn't about to give into temptation this early on. 

Michael sighs petulantly, goes back to his narrative. “But, at the same time it's not enough, Daddy, nowhere near enough,” he confesses, “so, you’d fuck me again: you’d push me against a wall and pound into me until I couldn't stand.” And it's the way he _says_ it as well that gets to Ashton. It's so fucking nonchalant and casual, like he's talking about like fishing or something. For some reason the almost bored tone makes it a thousand times worse- because Ashton is dying, has lost all cool and calm and his composure has been missing since like, 2008. Michael is a veritable King of composure, is holding it together like a damn pro, and Ashton just fucking knows that when they actually get down to it Michael will be reduced to a moaning, screaming mess of a man. He can't fucking wait.

Michael carries on, whispering now as if he's confessing his biggest secret. “You know, yesterday I woke up in the middle of the night, so hard I hurt and I thought about you taking care of me, fucking me hard and slow and deep and then cumming inside of me.”

Ashton whimpers. Whimpers. Like a fucking puppy. It’s pathetic how badly Michael’s words affect him, how quickly they have him on edge. Michael just knows what to fucking say, is all, knows how to play on his weaknesses and work him into a frenzy. His jeans are hurting him. They're way too tight anyway, let alone with his aching cock straining against the denim. God he wants that, wants all of it. He wants Michael.

“Do you want that, Daddy?” he continues. “Want to fuck me over and over and over, leave me wrecked, filled with cum?” Michael teases. 

“Shit, yeah, want that so bad,” Ashton replies through gritted teeth. It's so hard to resist temptation, to resist his body’s urges. He wants friction, needs something just to tide him over- but no. No, he’s not that weak. 

“Ash, Ashton, need it, need you,” Michael responds, moaning brokenly. “Need you to use me, Daddy, use my body however you want.” And even the idea of it, the idea of such total submission has Ashton groaning. “Need you to fuck me, fill me, make me feel whole. Could you do that?” Michael whispers like he's challenging Ashton to say no- which is a laughable concept. Like he ever fucking could.

Ashton’s hips thrust upwards subconsciously and he moans shamelessly. “Shit, yeah I could do that, baby. I’d fuck you so good you’d never stop wanting it, would need me in you all the time,” Ashton would obviously happily comply. I mean, he’d probably never leave his house or his bed and would eventually die of hunger and dehydration but like- it would be worth it.

“Already need you all the time, Daddy,” Michael admits quietly, like he's confessing. “Think about you all the time.” He's quick to turn it around, to drag Ashton down with him if he's spiralling into honesty. “Do you think about me, Daddy? Do you think about your baby boy, hard and needy and spread out underneath you? Do you think about me when you're with Luke?” 

And fuck. Fuck, shit just got very, very real all of a sudden. Ashton doesn't want to answer- knows what the truth is and knows that whether he admits it or not it will fuck everything up. 

Ashton coughs, changes the subject, “enough foreplay, Michael.” Michael doesn't push it any further, probably knows he's already crossed some sort of line. “Aren't you dying to touch yourself?” 

“How do you know I haven’t been?” Michael offers, smug as per usual. 

Ashton tuts, shaking his head. “Know you’re not that useless, baby, know that you know your rules by now.” Ashton replies, tone controlled and even despite the fucking tornado that's sweeping through his brain and muddling everything up. They’d established basic rules on night three, and Michael had never seemed to have an issue with remembering them in the nights following, and though Ashton can kind of tell where this is going he really needs to fucking come and kind of wants it to get to that quickly. 

“I don’t think I remember my rules, Daddy. You need to tell me again.” Michael insists, not even apologetic. It seems to Ashton that Michael _wants_ to misbehave, he can tell from the hint of smugness in Michael’s voice.

Ashton sighs. “Really, Michael, we’ve been over this before. Is this how you wanted to start off, baby, already disappointing me?” Fuck, Ashton doesn't think he could be less disappointed by anybody. His boner has a fucking boner now, he’s been hard for so long it's near ridiculous.

“No, Daddy, want to be good for you. Promise.” Michael whines. That's what Ashton likes to hear. 

Ashton sighs, fakes disappointment again, which is about as fucking hard as he is when he's this on edge, “you tell me that, baby, but you’ve still not delivered.” he says. “What are your rules, Michael?” Ashton gives him one more chance because he is a nice guy, let's be honest. 

“No touching myself without permission.” Michael replies, mumbling in (what Ashton assumes is) resignation. 

“Okay, that's the first one.” Ashton assents. “What else, baby? What else did we decide?” 

“Can't be quiet.” Michael says after a moment, and because Ashton is feeling mean and tyrannical- that's not exactly the _real_ answer, not up to his standard, anyway. 

“Come on, Michael, you know that that's not what Daddy was looking for,” Ashton coaxes, “gonna need you to be clearer, this time.” 

Michael groans frustratedly, throwing a tantrum in a way that should not be attractive but somehow fucking is. It's terrible. “Have to moan when I feel like moaning; can't keep any noises in because you wanna hear ‘em all.” 

“That's it, baby, Daddy wants to hear all your pretty little sounds.” Ashton coos as Michael keens again, incapable and forbidden from containing himself. “He likes knowing that he gets his boy all hot and bothered, like his boy gets to him.” 

“Yeah? I'm your boy, Daddy?” Michael asks, husky and sensual and up to no good once more. 

“You know you are, Michael." Ashton says. "And you know you get to me, know that I’m always hard for you, always thinking about you.” Ashton replies truthfully. And okay, though he's not _literally_ always hard for Michael it feels like he is. 

And Michael's voice does always play on Ashton’s mind, even when it would be better if it didn't. He's been sat watching a game of football with Cal when all of a sudden Michael had entered his subconscious, whispering dirty things. He'd be be sat in a lecture, disassociating as always and Michael’s moans would pierce his thoughts. 

"Can I touch myself now?" Michael asks, desperation permeating his voice. 

"Go ahead," Ashton assents, and he lets it be for a moment, lets Michael's sigh of relief wash over him. He's somewhere between jealous and grateful- jealous because Michael is fucking jacking off, and that's all Ashton has wanted to do for what feels like the last fifty years. He's grateful to Michael for being willing to follow Ashton's rules: it's obvious from the way the he practically sobs as the pleasure overcomes him. 

It's washing over Ashton in waves- each choked moan or broken wail heads straight down to Ashton's dick and he doesn't think he's _ever_ been this fucking hard. Like, ever. 

Michael's moans are in particular some of the best Ashton has ever experienced. He just gives himself up to it, is what it is, sounds fall out of his mouth the more worked up he gets and he swears softly whenever a groan fails to articulate just how _good_ he feels. 

And, yeah, okay, it's partially the touching that's causing that reaction, but Ashton is mostly responsible for this whole situation anyway- he rang Michael, after all. Well, actually, Ashton would argue that it's really Michael's fault that they're having this exchange- but, anyway. 

Anyway, Ashton's self esteem is inflated by Michael's reduction to his most primal and instinctual verbal responses because he had a hand in creating them (or to be more accurate, he had a voice and Michael had a hand), and Ashton's probably way more narcissistic than he'd like to be so yes, yeah, he's absolutely approaching the first orgasm he's ever had where his dick isn't even remotely involved. This is incredible. 

It feels incredible to be so satisfied on one hand and yet so so so dissatisfied on another. Because fuck, fuck he wants to touch himself so badly, even if just to take some of the edge off: but he _knows_ that if Michael just talks to him a little he'll be gone. 

"Michael, baby, tell me what you're doing, tell Daddy how good it feels," Ashton asks through gritted teeth, actively concentrating on grounding his hips into his seat and stopping himself from rutting into air. 

"Fingering myself, fuck-" Michael replies, lapsing into moans halfway through his sentence. "Fuck, feels so fucking good Daddy, can't even explain. Been so desperate to cum all day- sat through all of the damn phone calls just waiting for it to be you so I could finally fucking get off.” 

Ashton smiles, “knew you hadn't forgotten your rules.” 

Michael whines, “fuck, how could I? All I can think about is you ordering me around, fuck, so hot.” The brutal honesty in his tone gets to Ashton, he’ll admit it, maybe even more than the words themselves. “Worst part is that I _want_ to do whatever you want me to,” he continues, voice still low, mumbly and so fucking sexy that Ashton doesn't know what to do with himself. “Need to be good for you. Need to be your good boy- am I your good boy, Daddy? Tell me I am, please, been trying so hard to do everything right,” Michael begs, and Ashton bites the inside of his cheek to contain what would probably have been a desperate moan.

“Yeah, ‘course you are, baby, my good boy.” Ashton soothes. 

“Fuck, can I-” Michael chokes, and they've been doing this for long enough that Ashton knows what's coming.

“You want another finger?” he asks, feels like it's a pointless question but is going to clarify anyway because he wants to tease.

“Pleasepleaseplease,” Michael begs, gasping, “need it, Daddy.” 

“Okay,” Ashton acquiesces, and Michael cries out like a wild fucking animal. God- that’s- it’s- it’s something. It's something that makes Ashton moan louder than he has all night, tears the sound right out of his throat. His hips are frantically shifting, searching for friction within the constraints of his underwear. 

“Shit, thank you, thank you, thank you,” he chants, “feels so fucking- oh my god.” 

Ashton pants, too close for his own fucking good: fire builds in his stomach and he doesn't even think he’ll try to douse the flames this time. He hasn't sat still since he picked up the phone, it feels like, he’s been fucking into the air for forever. “Yeah? You like riding your fingers, baby?” Ashton asks, tries to add to the persona of Michael he’s built up in his head. Michael’s spent a large part of their time on the phone talking about his small hands, how long it takes to get himself to orgasm- Ashton can't help but notice his own conveniently large hands and wonder. He's only fucking human. 

“Mmhmm,” Michael mumbles, lazy in his euphoric haze, “like having something inside me.” 

“Fuck, such a size-queen, aren't you?” Ashton asks rhetorically, bemused. “Have you got something else in mind, baby? Got any toys to fuck yourself with?” They’d moved on from a classic dildo to a vibrator on night 4. Ashton had started out taking it easy on Michael, set a slow pace for them both, had made Michael talk him through the whole process from his perspective. Then he’d gotten mean- told Michael to put his vibrator on the highest setting but keep the same speed to make sure that Michael was positively wrecked. A fun night all in all, really, 

“No- shit, no, just my fingers.” Michael moans again, not that he’d ever really stopped- probably hadn't stopped since their conversation started. “Wish I had more. Wish I had you.” 

Ashton laughs, had been thinking along those same lines for days now. “My fingers or my cock, baby?” 

“Either... both!” Michael trips over himself in his eagerness to answer correctly. “Whatever you want. Just wanna be full of you, Daddy, want you fuck me and finger me at the same time, stretch me.” 

Ashton groans. Mother fuck. Mother fucking fuck. He's gonna come, gonna jizz in his fucking jeans without even laying a finger on his fucking dick. “I can take it- can do a dildo and three of my fingers at once, now- been practicing for you.” Michael explains conversationally. “You like the sound of that, Daddy?” 

“Fuck yeah, baby, Daddy fucking _loves_ the sound of that.” Ashton is so close but he’ll be damned if it's not Michael’s orgasm that pushes him over the edge.

“Need to come, so fucking close, Daddy, please,” Michael implores. 

“You can take one more finger first.” Ashton says, sounds way more collected than he feels- so close now it's an insatiable ache. 

Michael pants as he complies, his voice shifting up at least an entire fucking octave as he stammers “fuck, Daddy, fuck me, it's so good, ‘m so close.” 

“Hold it, Michael, hold off for Daddy.” Ashton orders, more to test Michael’s limits than anything else. 

Michael sobs, hysterical, “can’t, can’t do it, please let me come, Daddy, need to come-” 

“You can wait,” Ashton says, an instruction Michael wants desperately to, but physically can't obey.

“Can’t, can't can't can’t-” Michael insists.

“You can, baby, you can do it for me,” Ashton 

Michael whimpers, “please, Ash,” and he sounds so pathetic that Ashton knows he's taken it far enough. And besides- he himself is so close he can basically taste his orgasm.

“You can come,” Ashton relents, and just to help him along: “come on, baby, make a mess of yourself for Daddy. Wanna hear you screaming my name.” 

And fuck, let it be said that Michael is never one to back down from a command. “Fuck, Ashton-Ashton-Ashton,” he chants, cries out brokenly as it hits him. “Oh my god, fuck me, Ashton,” Michael mumbles, not even forming real sentences now. “Fuck, Daddy,” Michael weeps, voice breathy and so fucking wrecked that it sets Ashton off, finally. 

It's difficult to explain: the total euphoria that overtakes his body, weighs down his eyelids and swells his tongue, sends swear words tumbling out of his mouth in an incoherent stream. The orgasm feels like it lasts forever, like he's never going to come down again.

So fuck, this is what he’d been missing out on every time he'd gotten impatient and touched himself. Because coming without any physical stimulation is something else entirely: it’s pleasure, yes, but it's also the lingering sense of accomplishment that keeps Ashton on cloud nine. He’s not had an orgasm that good since- since ever, really. That seems to be a common occurrence with Michael. 

He comes down eventually, though the post-coital bliss lasts longer than it ever has before, and becomes aware of how fucking disgusting it feels so be wearing underwear caked in his own jizz. 

“You still there?” Ashton asks. 

Michael laughs, “you know, I'm actually not allowed to put the phone down? I have to wait for the customer to hang up,” he explains.

Ashton feels sombre all of a sudden. “Customer? Is that what I am?” 

“Come on, Ashton, you know that it's different.” Michael replies softly. 

Different. That's one fucking word for this shitstorm of a situation. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

 

~ 

The next day Ashton feels a million different levels of conflicted. Because, well: on the one hand he’d gone on an absolutely excellent date with Luke. His love life is totally flourishing and he will probably not be totally lonely and unfulfilled for very much longer, which is excellent news. 

What’s less excellent is that his and Michael’s… thing- their _mutual sexual gratification_ had been a fucking mind-blowing experience. He’d come untouched. Completely untouched, which, thinking about it now, what the fuck? And, no, that definitely does not sound like an issue worth complaining about, but it kind of is. Being intimate with Michael feels like he's cheating on Luke, is all. Even though he and Luke are definitely neither official nor exclusive. 

It's just- he definitely feels something more for Michael than like, lust and sexy feelings. He has a boner every time he talks to Michael, true, but he also gets like, a heart boner from the (albeit brief) conversations they have. 

He's just a huge ball of conflicting emotions bound together by an excellent hair care routine and arms that won't quit, basically. 

And to top it all off, today is the first official band practice. He's going to Geordie and Harry’s place so that they can finally pull together a piece with their fourth member, Elusive Guitar Player. And he's not dreading it, not at all, but it's always an uncomfortable experience when you're the only person not in the friendship group. Not that he's not friends with Harry and Geordie now because he’d say he probably is, it's just that the two of them and Elusive Guitar Player have been friends for a while before Ashton had even entered the proverbial picture. So, he's not really looking forward to that aspect of it. 

Honestly though, he just wants to play the fucking drums for a while and forget about the mess that is his personal life for a bit. 

~

Geordie pulls open her front door with a smile fixed on her face. “Hey, Ash,” she greets.

“Geordie,” Ashton says, smiling back. He steps inside and pulls of his shoes. 

The house is what Ashton had expected really- there’s mess pretty much everywhere and none of the furniture looks like it belongs. Still, it feels homely and comforting, and Ashton is totally getting a 90s vibe. Ashton’s flat is definitely worse for wear- two teenage boys in an enclosed space is a literal recipe for disaster (mix together two teenage boys, a cup of laziness, a hectic timetable, bake for a year and a half and then voila, messy flat). 

They’d gotten to talking about their housing situations last week when discussing band practice, and he’d found out that Geordie and Harry live together in a house just off of campus with two of their friends. 

One of the ‘friends’ is Elusive Guitar Player, whose name Ashton hadn't really been paying attention to. 

He looks around again and notices a distinct lack of human life forms. “Where’s Harry? And where’s the other guy?” He feels like that was probably more than a little tactless but Geordie still smiles good-naturedly. 

“We’re in the basement. It's cold but the acoustics are good,” she informs him, grimacing apologetically. She nods at the jacket he's pulled halfway down his arms: “you might want to keep that on.” 

As they walk downstairs they debate song options again. Though they’d decided on The 1975 last time, they were still tossing up between Heart Out and The Sound. Ashton was completely pro The Sound- as far as he knew, Elusive 4th Member could not play saxophone and (though Ashton had dabbled in high school) he couldn't either. 

He hears Harry laughing loudly before they even turn the corner. “Oh my god, you're such a fucking idiot!” Harry howls. 

“I know, I know! But-” 

Time stands still. Sound becomes muffled, muddied and distant. He’s 90% sure he looks like he’s been shot- it definitely fucking feels like he has. No. Just- no. No fucking way. This is not happening. This _cannot_ be fucking happening. This is definitely not real life. 

“Dicks away, boys,” Geordie announces loudly, breaking Ashton out of his trance. He finally steps into the basement, sees a shock of red hair and a tall, lean body. She continues, starts to introduce Elusive Guitar Player, “Ash this is-” 

“Michael?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol


	5. right now you're someone else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've got to be fucking kidding me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHA GUESS WHAT ??? I'm updating and it's not even been three weeks! A new record? But for real this chapter might be the last one for a while because my exams are so close now and I'm gonna be pretty much revising until June. 
> 
> Butttt on the plus side, this story is finally coming together the way I want it to! Yay! 
> 
> This update is also relatively short compared to the last one which is pretty much entirely down to the fact that the next chapter is gonna be huge.
> 
> That's it though, so enjoy.

“Michael?”

Ashton really doesn't mean to say anything but shock sends a now familiar name tumbling from his mouth in a gasp. 

Michael’s head whips around so fucking quickly his neck is at risk of snapping. Ashton notes almost subconsciously that it's a nice neck: paper white and perfect for marking up. “Ashton?” Michael chokes. 

When the fuck did Ashton’s life become a Lifetime movie? How is it that Elusive Fourth Member is actually sex-line Michael? Michael-who-has-given-him-multiple-orgasms? How is this his life?

And fuck. Fucking hell. Michael is gorgeous. Ashton didn't really prepare himself for that (he never really prepared to meet Michael at all) but shit, he totally is. God, his green eyes are fucking glittering and he's got plush, _perfect_ pink lips; so pigmented he has to be wearing some sort of lip colour. He's also got that hint of punk that Ashton tends to love in guys, with his pierced eyebrow, but he's undeniably adorable at the same time... and sexy, and gorgeous and just straight up _pretty_. 

“Harry?” Geordie fake gasps, mocking, and Harry laughs and plays along with it, says her name back to her in the same dramatic voice.

“You two know each other, then.” Harry surmises when neither Ashton or Michael laugh. 

“You could say that,” Ashton replies, voice robotic in his attempt to stay in control of the emotional tornado going on inside his head. 

“We met at a club a while ago.” Michael lies and Ashton could kiss him for being so good at improvising, but he's definitely not going to. He might _want_ to, but he won't. Self control: 1, Ashton’s thoughts: 0.

“When have you been clubbing without us?” Geordie asks, either genuinely curious or mocking Michael- Ashton’s not yet sure of their relationship.

Michael rolls his eyes. “Surprising as it might be, Geord, I have a social life that doesn't always include the people in this house,” he says, light hearted but still sarcastic.

Harry scoffs, “this is the first time I've heard about your ‘social life’.” 

“God, Harold, I don't have to tell you every time I go out! You’re trying to ruin my life!” Michael huffs, stomping his feet and playing the part of angsty teen perfectly. 

“Son, you need to show your Father some respect. Now, it's high time that you stopped with all of the shenanigans and started focussing on your school work.” Harry has adopted a way more gruff old man voice and is standing with his hands crossed over his chest. His acting skills could probably do with some work but he gets a 10/10 for effort.

“You’re not my real Dad!” is Michael’s well thought out response. 

“Stop it! You're tearing this family apart!” Geordie yells. The three of them double over with laughter and Ashton looks between them bemusedly. 

Geordie sobers up as soon as she feels Ashton’s gaze on her. “Oh, right. Ashton doesn't know that we’re weird yet.” 

“I think he does now.” Harry says, nudging Geordie with his elbow. “Do we have to kill him?” he stage whispers. 

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Ashton replies, smiles at him. His smile dies as soon as he meets Michael’s eyes and he looks away, shuffles his feet; the absolute epitome of awkwardness. God, he’s so fucking smooth.

Harry notices, and that's all it takes for him to catch on. “Oh,” he says, realisation clear in his tone, “oh, you two-?” 

“Kind of.” Michael shrugs. Because technically, no, they haven't hooked up, which is what Harry’s implying. _Technically_ , they've never even met before. Still, Ashton is too embarrassed to meet Michael’s eyes knowing what Michael knows about him. 

And, though it seems kind of stupid, he's a little sad that he can never call Michael to get off again. It feels like it’s been ruined whatever it was that he and Phone Michael had. Because, frankly, the point of it- the point of calling somebody to get himself off- was that all of his fantasies would be faceless and anonymous and nobody in Real Life would ever have to know how kinky Ashton really is. And as well, Ashton would be able to spare himself the awkwardness of envisioning one of his friends or crushes as the willing participant in his little fantasies because he knows that he'd get all weird about it and they'd ask him and it would be _humiliating_. 

Now the anonymity has been stripped away and he's face to face with a total stranger, no less, who knows _exactly_ what Ashton is into in bed. Which is- yeah. Yeah, he’ll go with humiliating. 

“Do you think you can put it behind you and play some songs?” Harry asks, voice quivering with what is probably hope, or something akin to it

Ashton looks at Michael. Really looks at him, the lines of his body and the intensity of his entire being: the aura of straight up LOOK AT ME that he exudes even doing something mundane, even standing still.

And truthfully? No, Ashton doesn't think he’s going to be able to put it (them? was there ever a them?) behind him. But fuck, if he's not gonna try. 

Ashton clears his throat. “Yeah,” he meets Michael’s curious gaze properly and continues, “yeah, we’re both adults. We can just forget about that and get on with this.” 

Michael smirks- and well fuck. Ashton’s got another visual to add to his copious amounts of audio. “Shit, Ashton, you’re so _responsible_." Michael says earnestly, as if his wide eyes would fool anybody. "Are there any like, rules you need me to follow?” And God, this is what Ashton had been fucking dreading.

Ashton wants to charge the floor between them, push Michael against the closest wall and shove his hand into Michael’s pants, see if he’s still teasing and cracking jokes when Ashton’s got a hand on his fucking dick. 

He doesn't, refrains, decides that doing that would most definitely result in his expulsion from the band and as much as this started as a 'do or die for my grade' thing, Ashton has really enjoyed the time he's spent with Harry and Geordie so far. He likes having a band. 

So instead, Ashton bites the inside of his cheek for some restraint and then says with a smile on his face, “none that aren't obvious.” 

Michael looks pleasantly surprised that Ashton is willing to play his game of double entendres, but the brief exchange is cut short when Harry thrusts a guitar at Michael. “Come on, Hendrix, show Ashton what you’ve got.” 

Michael smiles and though the gesture seems sweet, Ashton knows Michael well enough to expect his next words to be laced with something more… well, something more Michael. He takes the guitar, cradles it lovingly and gestures with his head at Ash's kit. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Ashton smiles to himself and takes his seat behind the drumkit. Game fucking _on_. 

He taps out a steady beat, doesn't attempt any of flashy technique work he’s prone to using when he's showing off because he's trying to encourage the others to improvise on top of his beat. Collaboration makes a band, is the thing. 

Geordie picks up on it pretty much straight away (Ashton assumes that it's a rhythm section thing) and starts playing a riff to accompany him. 

Michael smirks, mutters “oh, I see,” and starts shredding, basically. He's shamelessly showing off, has to be, so Ashton matches him: ups the tempo, strays from his solid beat to play a little freestyle. When he's done he moves back to another solid beat, a different one this time- one that's not his own. Geordie smiles at him knowingly, moves up and plays a different sequence to accompany him. 

Michael swears but matches them both seamlessly, catches on to what they're playing and meets them there, plucking out the new melody with ease. 

Harry’s eyes widen quite comically as he realises. He exclaims, "oh! Is this-?” Ashton assumes he answers his own question.

Geordie giggles as Harry flounders momentarily, looking for some kind of microphone. He doesn't find one in time to meet his cue so he shrugs and cups his mouth to amplify his voice as he starts singing. 

“Buddy you're a boy, make a big noise, playin’ in the street, gonna be a big man some day,” he's grinning the entire time he sings- Ashton has noticed that he's basically grinning any time he's conscious, and his smile is contagious. “You got mud on your face, you big disgrace! Kickin’ your can all over the place.” 

They all join in because of fucking course they do, it's Queen, and the song is iconic. “WE WILL, WE WILL ROCK YOU,” they chant, and Harry gestures to keep it going once he's finished the allocated two repeats, so they yell it maybe 12 times, until they're all slightly more hoarse, at least.

“Michael Clifford!” Harry yells, and Michael just starts shredding, fills the allocated instrumental and then some. 

Ashton needs to stop looking at him, honestly, because his fucking face while he's playing is ridiculous. His mouth is wide open, eyes shut and squinting like he's crying out in pain or pleasure- like he's mid fucking orgasm. It's absolutely sinful.

To distract himself he starts playing along with and then playing over Michael, nailing a long ass drum solo in what feels like retaliation. Michael's quick to respond- his hands move faster over the strings, he plays harder and louder and doesn't miss a note. And they still mesh, still play off of each other’s nuances in a fucking talent tug-of-war that Ashton is not about to fucking lose. 

It feels a whole lot like foreplay. 

~

Michael clears his throat as practice dwindles down and Harry and Geordie move to head upstairs. “I’ll come up in a minute.” He says.

It's obvious to everybody that that means he wants to talk to Ashton (God knows what he's going to fucking say) who promptly turns red on the spot. 

For what it's worth, they comply. They smirk at each other as they walk upstairs, Harry raising his eyebrows suggestively and finger-gunning until he's out of sight- but they comply.

Ashton blushes again because he's alone with Michael- Michael who he’s refusing to look at, who’s still standing awkwardly behind him and who’s still as aware of Ashton’s kinks now as he was literally last night when they had fucking phone sex. Ashton has the right to feel a little embarrassed.

Michael clears his throat again, and maybe he has a cold or something? He should probably like, get that looked at or something because he's coughing a considerable amount. Ashton assumes that Michael is standing awkwardly but he's not actually looking at him- is looking instead at the very interesting concrete floor. He figures that it probably gets quite cold in the winter, down here, and maybe they won't be able to practice once it reaches a certain temperature.

“So, uh, this isn't what I was expecting from band rehearsal,” Michael offers, breaching the silence.

Ashton turns around finally and looks up at Michael, a grimace that's actually quite a valiant attempt at a smile playing across his lips. “Yeah, no kidding,” he says, and tries for a laugh. 

They stare each other down for a minute then, and Michael’s intense gaze makes Ashton feels like he’s having his fucking soul searched, like he's being stripped naked and poked at. He doesn't know what Michael is trying to find, what it is that he’s searching for within the depths of Ashton’s eyes but _godfuckingdamnit_ , it feels like he's searching hard. Still, Ashton won't look away, won't break the connection that seems to have formed between them despite how uncomfortable he feels. It's Michael who turns his head and looks towards the stairs. Ashton shouldn't feel victorious but he definitely does.

Michael speaks again, this time with his arms crossed and his pierced eyebrow raised. “You’re not what I expected.” He says, like that's supposed to clarify something for Ashton. 

Ashton is confused- which, to be honest, he has been the whole time. “Not what you expected, how? D’you mean that you didn't expect the drummer to be me- or that you didn't expect me to be the way I am?” 

“Both,” is Michael’s calculated response. Which is just, wow, absolutely enlightening.

Ashton frowns. “Okay- so how did you expect me to be?” 

Michael shrugs, “I don't know.” Ashton rolls his eyes and Michael smirks a little before he speaks in the same collected, even tone. “More dominant, I guess?”

Ashton feels a little bit shocked and a whole lot offended. Excuse you, Michael, he’s dominant as fuck. 

Michael continues, unaware of or ignoring the way that Ashton’s eyes are narrowing to slits and his hands are calling into fists by his sides. “I don't know, it's just when we talked on the phone you seemed like you were pretty- y'know, in control?” Ashton scoffs- that's putting it lightly. Michael doesn't seem to notice the scoff, or at least carries on like he didn't. “And you've been kinda quiet the whole rehearsal, you didn't really like step in or whatever. You just kind of- did what you were told. And I guess I didn't think that _you_ would be the kind to sit back and listen. I guess I just figured you’d be like, a huge dominant force. But…” The way he trails off seems to say enough. 

The sentiment of this whole attack feels really fucking unfair to Ashton because, no, he wasn't just going to come in to an already established relationship and just assert his musical dominance or like, mark his fucking territory. Ashton Irwin is a polite young man who can take a fucking social cue, thank you very much, and so Michael’s whole argument is totally unfounded. 

And see, while Ashton _could_ simply explain himself to Michael: now he feels taunted and challenged so his logical thought process has kind of been thrown out of the proverbial window. 

“Really?” He asks instead, voice low in a way that should be sending alarm bells ringing in Michael’s head. He stalks forward, predatory, and appreciates the little hitch in Michael’s breath. As Ashton gets closer Michael recedes, shrinking into himself and pressing his back against the wall. Ashton grounds his hand slightly above Michael’s head and leans in. “You don't think I’m ‘dominant’ enough?” Ashton asks, breath hot on Michael’s neck, and he's pleased when Michael shudders slightly, going slack. God, Michael’s fucking neck is just too much, too perfect and Ashton has to battle the overwhelming urge to just sink his damn teeth into it, mark Michael up and stain the pretty canvas a little bit. 

“Didn't say that,” Michael protests, and Ashton smirks, pulling back to look into Michael’s eyes again. 

“Oh, didn't you? Because funnily enough, I can quite distinctly remember you saying just that only a few seconds ago. Weird, that.” Ashton can be quite a sarcastic mother fucker when he wants to be, and it seems that Michael has chosen to find that out the hard way.

“I, I-” Michael stutters- and Ashton can literally see him desperately looking for a get-away. “I didn't mean you weren't dominant _enough_.” Michael trips over his own tongue in an attempt to clarify, to soothe- to save himself. It's just about pathetic enough that Ashton figures he's made his point. “Just meant that you weren't very dominant before, in rehearsal, that's all I meant,” Michael stammers. 

“Oh, if that's _all you meant_ , then.” Ashton smiles softly, shakes his head and steps out of Michael’s space. Michael gasps as Ashton pulls back, like he’d been holding his breath the entire time Ashton had had him crowded against the wall. 

“Well, I think I should probably be going,” Ashton says and he feels fucking victorious as he walks away. He turns to Michael and smirks when he reaches the bottom step. “See you around, Michael.” 

As he heads upstairs he notices that Michael is still pressed against the wall like he was when Ashton was in his space- is still breathing like he's recovering from a marathon. Watching his chest rise and fall feels like victory.


	6. running out of pages in your passport

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashton is the king of puns and of getting the d.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck I'm so sorry it's been an actual decade and a half but I'm back and exams are done in two weeks so then I'll be posting dead frequently, I swear!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> This was really weirdly put together bc I basically had to write in any spare moments, so if it doesn't make sense feel free to comment what ur confused about or whatever and I'll explain (Maybe??? Hopefully????) !! Also mistakes are all my fault as well. 
> 
> If you want a chapter summary rather than to go back and read the last chapter- basically, Ashton and Michael met!!!! Surprise!!!!!
> 
> Anyway, enjoy and I'm so ssoooooooo sorry it was this long between updates.

Ashton’s on the train home when he gets a text from Luke. 

_so, band rehearsal???? What was guitar person like???_

And, well... fuck. Ashton’s never been ‘that guy’ before, has never had the attention span or the mental capacity, honestly, to have feelings for more than one person at a time: until now, that is. 

God, he's got no idea what the fuck he's supposed to tell Luke about this whole situation. He could just use the made up story about the club and share with Luke how awkward he feels around Michael. He could tell a kind-of-lie in order to be somewhat open and honest and start a healthy relationship. Or- or he could not do that. 

If he tells Luke that him and his guitarist have sexual history- if he's going into this honestly, then he’ll have to admit that he’s _definitely_ still attracted to Michael in like, all of the ways a person can be attracted to another. And he doesn't want to crush Luke’s heart like that, because Luke’s a sweet guy.

He’ll say that he and Michael have only just met. Which is true. Technically. It’s lying by omission rather than straight up lying. 

And then there's Luke’s question: ‘what was Michael like?’ 

Michael was- Michael was gorgeous and clever and competitive and infuriating and so fucking sexy Ashton had to stop himself from pushing Michael down onto his knees and then feeding him his dick. But, that's not what Luke wants to hear.

_went okay, he's a bit of a tool tbh, lol :)_

_aww bby:-((( want something to take your mind off it?_

_would love that!_

_how does pizza and a HP marathon sound???_

_sounds amazing! Xx_

Adding kisses is probably overdoing it a bit, but Ashton is a grown man and he's not gonna have a teenage girl freak out about what a few ‘x’s at the end of a text mean. 

_come to mine then? Xxx_

Except fuck, he totally is because Luke just added another one, and that definitely means something- like, unless it doesn't. He's not over thinking at all. 

Going to Luke’s is a good idea, definitely, because he likes Luke a lot: Luke is sweet and funny and doesn't tease him constantly and, rather importantly, he's not secretly a sex worker who knows all of Ashton’s secrets. Well, Ashton hopes that he's not. 

_sweet, see u in a bit! Xxx_

~

Ashton is first and foremost astounded by how well looked after Luke’s house is. He's got a ‘welcome’ mat and a shoe rack by his front door, and he offers Ashton a drink like a perfect little host- and he's a damn barista, so the drink is going to be well made. 

Luke's flat has got a fucking colour scheme, for christ’s sake, and there are potted plants everywhere. The absence of random crap on any of the numerous surfaces is a legitimate shock to Ashton's system. He's got clean benches in his kitchen, even, with minimal to no clutter. What the fuck? 

__It's ridiculous, like a picture from an interior magazine. He's even got popcorn set out on his coffee table, Ashton sees when when he enters the living room. This definitely isn't fair at all. Luke’s younger than him! His flat should, by law, be _way_ messier than this actual showroom, and Luke shouldn't have a ceramic bowl to put popcorn in in the first place! Who does he think he is, acting like he's some kind of adult with their life together?_ _

__Luke is fairly embarrassed by it all. He gestures to the couch and Ashton takes that as his cue to sit down. “I’m- I guess you could say I'm quite house proud?" he explains, red faced and shuffling his hands. "It's a bit weird, sorry. Not exactly your normal teenage boy's first flat.”_ _

__Ashton smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring way and pats the top of Luke’s hand where it's resting on the middle seat between them both. “I think it's cute. Your flat is lovely, it puts mine to shame. If you came to mind you’d get lost in the dirty clothes pile and nobody would see you again for ten years.”_ _

__“Would you not dig me out?” Luke gasps._ _

__“Hmm,” Ashton muses, “I’d definitely try, but I don't think I’d be much of a help. The pile is currently the size of a small cupboard,” Ashton goes on, wide eyed and gesticulating wildly, “and I think it like absorbs the energy of anything that goes near it and grows. Like that thing on that one Doctor Who episode.” Luke laughs out loud at that, and his laugh is kind of a bit squeaky and breathless and totally adorable. God, all Ashton wants to do is fucking kiss the smile off his damn lips._ _

__And, well, he's never been the best at controlling his impulses, and at twenty one, he thinks it's a bit late to start. So he just fucking goes for it, leans in and presses his lips to Luke’s while the younger boy is mid laugh. It catches Luke by surprise but his 'harrumph' is muffled by Ashton’s mouth. Luke kisses him back, thank the fucking Lord, moves in closer to Ashton and kind of lightly grips the back of his neck._ _

__Gentle, slow kisses very quickly turn into Ashton biting at Luke’s lower lip and licking into his mouth when it falls open on a choked moan. Ashton quickly rearranges their positioning so he doesn't fall off the couch, ends up hovering over Luke, half hard from the way the younger boy is circling his hips up in an easy grind._ _

__“Why do I get the impression that maybe the movie marathon wasn't really what you came over for?” Luke asks breathlessly, smirking up at Ashton._ _

__“I have no clue what you're on about,” Ashton replies, feigning innocence with his eyebrows raised, and he goes back to kissing Luke in an attempt to shut him up. It's messy and bruising with probably a bit too much tongue if Ashton’s being honest, but still, he can't pull himself away._ _

__“Never said I had a problem with that,” Luke tells him, panting and spent already. “Wanna touch you,” Luke says, like Ashton would turn that down. They reconfigure again so Ashton can shove his jeans off with minimal knee to crotch boner killing. Luke does the same: which, hell yeah, ten sex points for efficiency. Luke’s hand is down Ashton’s boxers before Ashton even knows what's going on and he chokes on a moan, completely hard now._ _

__Luke’s definitely spat in his palm because it's nowhere close to the dry, slightly uncomfortable hand-job that Ashton’s used to giving himself in the ten minutes he has when Calum showers. It's fucking _good_ even with the weird angle. Luke’s making do, focussing on stroking Ashton’s shaft but teasing his slit with the corner of his thumb, (an excellent approach that's probably going to see Ashton coming embarrassingly quickly), moving his arm as much as their proximity will allow._ _

__“Not gonna last,” Ashton warns, and if anything that just spurs Luke on. He speeds up his movements a little, squeezes ever so slightly on the upstroke to give Ashton more friction. It feels fucking incredible. Luke has insanely talented hands._ _

__“Come,” Luke groans, voice low and breathy right by Ashton’s ear. Ashton’s neck is straining right in Luke’s eyeline, so naturally Luke leans up and kisses from the corner of Ashton’s jaw all the way down his throat, attempting to multitask and leave a hickey on the taut expanse of skin there._ _

__Ashton curses softly, “I’m close,” he says, and captures Luke’s bottom lip between his teeth to ground himself momentarily._ _

__Luke pulls away and moans, “come on, Ash, come for me,” he says, staring straight into Ashton’s eyes. And it's something about his pleading look that sets Ashton off, starts the reaction in his brain and has him seeing stars._ _

__Ashton comes with a grunt of Luke’s name, slicking up the space between their aligned bodies._ _

__Luke’s cock is hard and urgent against his thigh. Luke has remained entirely untouched and Ashton decides that that's unfair, and he should definitely- no, he _needs_ to change that right now._ _

__“Gonna suck you off,” Ashton tells Luke, searching his eyes for any hesitation and progressing when he sees dilated pupils and a ring of stormy blue. Luke's eyes communicate better than words how much Luke wants what Ashton's offering._ _

__Ashton clambers off of Luke and onto the (luckily carpeted) floor. Luke sits up, sinking into the back of the sofa with his legs spread in a snapshot of debauchery. His whole body is flushed a delicate pink, even his soft stomach and he's sweating a little, hair matted to his forehead. Luke’s cock is pretty average in length and width, but it's the most gorgeous shade of purple-red, and there are like, prominent veins which actually looks way hotter than it sounds. He’s already slick with precum, and fuck, Ashton might have gone his whole life without knowing that Luke has a tendency to leak and what a tragic life that would have been. Ashton fucking needs it in his mouth, like yesterday._ _

__Ashton takes his place between Luke's legs, taking a moment or two to nip at his thighs, marking up the flawless canvases._ _

__Luke hisses. “You're a damn tease, Irwin,” he says and all Ashton can do is smirk and shrug before he gets down to it, mouths wetly at the head of Luke’s cock._ _

__Luke’s hands tangle in Ashton’s hair; just resting there, not pushing him down or attempting to control his movement, playing with the soft curls at the nape of his neck._ _

__Ashton licks flat stripes up Luke’s shaft, familiarising himself with the taste of it before he takes the first inch or so into his mouth._ _

__“Shit, Ashton,” Luke says, voice low and wrecked already._ _

__God, he's not sucked dick in the longest fucking time, and now he's remembering why. It’s just that- having a cock in your mouth feels exactly as weird as you’d assume it would feel. Ashton doesn't hate it, in fact he's more than happy to get on his knees whenever the occasion arises, but that doesn't mean he especially enjoys the ache in his jaw or retching when his gag reflex is triggered._ _

__It's the whole ‘pleasing his partners to get them to make noise’ thing, really, that drives him to want to be the best damn cock sucker in Western Sydney. He doesn't think he is, mind you but damn it, he's definitely going to try to be._ _

__Luke doesn't seem to have a problem with his technique by any means. As Ashton lowers himself, swirling his tongue around Luke’s cock and sucking so hard his cheeks hollow out, Luke starts swearing, gripping the edge of the couch with his fingertips and groaning Ashton’s name and stuff. It's really an A+ audio experience._ _

__Ashton pulls off for a second to breathe, rests his head on Luke's knee momentarily before he goes right back at it. This time he doesn't bother with slow or gradual, takes over half straight off the bat and then twists his hand to create friction on the parts of Luke’s cock he isn't swallowing down. He flattens his tongue along the underside, letting himself bask in the non-verbal reactions he gets from that._ _

__Luke's hands tighten in his hair. "So fucking good," he mumbles, panting, and Ashton hums around his mouthful, feeling smug._ _

__"Gonna come," Luke warns. Ashton accepts the challenge- doesn't move off when Luke hits the back of his throat. He swallows around his mouthful, which he hates the feeling of but will do anyway because of his irritating ‘pleasing people’ kink. Luke groans, "fuck, Ashton," but it's difficult for Ashton to articulate a witty response when there's literally a dick in his throat._ _

__He pulls away again, catches his breath in huge gasping inhales. His eyes are watering now, probably bloodshot and gross looking, so he jacks Luke off with his head buried in the couch to regain some composure._ _

__"Look at me a sec," Luke says, stroking his hand through Ashton's curls comfortingly. Ashton looks up at Luke through his lashes, blinks in a way he hopes is sensual, and he’s successful if Luke’s broken moan is anything to go by._ _

__"You look so fucking good, Ash; you're unreal," Luke tells him, and to stop himself from like melting on the spot Ashton sucks at Luke’s balls and then manoeuvres pretty much all of Luke's dick back into his mouth with no warning._ _

__Luke hisses, hand moving from where it had been resting in Ashton's floppy fringe to the back of Ashton's head. The gentle pressure there encourages Ashton to relax into it, and he goes pliant in Luke's grip, throat open as much as he can manage, hands falling to his sides._ _

__He pulls off momentarily, telling Luke what he'd been trying to explain without words. "You can fuck my mouth if you want."_ _

__Luke moans again, mutters something that Ashton doesn't catch before he slides his cock back into Ashton's open mouth, holding his head in place._ _

__Ashton isn't a huge fan of face fucking if he's being honest, because it actually kind of hurts and not in a sexy way. No, he's not the kind of guy who gets off to thought of having a dick in his throat- but when he goes down, he’ll stay down until there's come on his face._ _

__So, when Luke's dick enters his throat he forces himself to stay lax. Luke grabs a handful of his hair and guides Ashton’s mouth up and down his length. Ashton takes it like a fucking champ, reminding himself that this will be over as soon as Luke comes, which he can tell is going to be pretty fucking soon. He tears up again as Luke triggers his gag reflex, but he stays put, breathing in through his nose, sensing Luke's oncoming orgasm._ _

__The younger boy's moans have generally, until this point, varied in length and pace but have stayed in the same sort of octave as his normal speaking voice. As Luke thrusts into the wet heat of Ashton's mouth though, the pitch finally starts fluctuating and that's music to Ashton's damn ears, enough to have his dick twitching._ _

__"Ash- I'm gonna," Luke says breathlessly, and that's all the warning Ashton gets before he's tasting the bitterness of Luke's come._ _

__Luke tugs Ashton off of him, most likely over sensitive at this point, and sinks back into the couch with a sigh. Ashton collapses beside him, wiping the leftover come from his lips with the back of his hand before it gets the chance to dry._ _

__"Shit I'm so sorry, I should have pulled out or something," Luke says, returning to his usual flustered, red faced self._ _

__Ashton smiles warmly at him, rearranges them both so they're lying down face to face. "It's no problem." He says, but Luke looks skeptical. "I swallowed, didn't I?” Ashton teases, and Luke blushes again, avoiding Ashton's eyes. He still doesn't look all together reassured. “Really, it was fine." Ashton promises, sending Luke another soft smile._ _

__Though Luke is two years his junior, Ashton feels absolutely tiny when they're pressed up against each other like this- Luke’s 6”4, broad as a rugby player, and though Ashton works out he doubts he’ll ever look as physically imposing as Luke. It makes sense, in a weird way, that Luke’s so shy and awkward then- he's like a teddy bear. A fucking sexy teddy bear._ _

__Dear God, Ashton’s thoughts are always a mess straight after sex but he's never usually this bad. He needs to pull himself together, ASAP._ _

__"Yeah, it was," Luke says, grinning back. "I myself would say better than fine." His voice takes on a confident, cocky kind of edge, and Ashton won't lie- it's pretty attractive._ _

__"Okay- what's the adjective of choice then, Lukey?" Ashton questions, tone light and teasing._ _

__"I think I'd describe that as mind-blowing. Emphasis on the blowing." Luke says, smirking proudly at his own joke._ _

__"That wasn't bad, Hemmings!” Ashton laughs, “I'd leave the dick puns to the master, though. The masturbator." Ashton adds, and giggles to himself._ _

__Luke groans, “that was fucking terrible, oh my god,” but he laughs along with Ashton anyway. And God, Luke’s laugh should be fucking outlawed. Ashton literally can't help but kiss him when he's laughing, something about his crinkled eyes and his wide grin drives Ashton bloody mad._ _

__Ashton captures Luke’s lips with his own again, and they're both definitely too spent for round two straight away, so it's just comforting- pretty romantic, actually- kissing._ _

__“God, I really fucking like you,” Luke murmurs, eyes flickering over Ashton’s whole face to look for any kind of discomfort. He wouldn't be able to find anything except bliss if he searched for fifty years, Ashton swears._ _

__“Good,” Ashton smiles, tracing a pattern into Luke’s chest and watching goosebumps rise up to mark the path his finger blazes. “I like you too.”_ _

__~_ _

__“Before you even say it,” Ashton discards his jacket as he walks into the flat. He's not Luke, so he doesn't have a coat rack or even any pegs, but he has a kitchen table with chairs, so he hangs it up on the back of one. “Before you even say it, no, this isn't a walk of shame.”_ _

__Cal’s sat on the couch playing Fifa, but he spares Ashton a disparaging look before he turns his attention back to the game. “If you even have to say it isn't, it definitely is.” Which, yes, that's a valid point, actually, but still- fuck Calum._ _

__He tells him as much. “Fuck you,” Ashton whines petulantly and takes his seat on the other couch, kicking his feet out in front of him. Calum laughs once, too distracted to properly rip into him like Ashton knows he wants to._ _

__“You could try, but I'd assume you were still tired from fucking-” Calum frowns, pulls his headset off and hits pause, “wait, who did you even pull?”_ _

__Ashton blushes, “um, you remember Luke, right?”_ _

__Calum whistles, raises an eyebrow before hitting play on the game again. “Damn, you work quickly.”_ _

__“Shut up, it definitely wasn't like that,” Ashton stutters, because fuck, it actually totally was and he didn't even realise._ _

__Ashton had told Luke, told himself, that he wanted to take their... Whatever they have, slowly, and not rush in dick first. And of course, that's exactly what he's fucking done. Ashton had kissed Luke, after all. He's the worst person in the history of all people, ever. He's also a bit melodramatic._ _

__“I mean, your neck is kind of saying other wise.” Calum teases, and Ashton groans when he pulls out his iPhone front camera to see multiple red marks marring the skin._ _

__He buries his face in his hands. “I hate you,” he says, but it's probably the millionth time he's said that and Calum knows by now to just ignore him._ _

__Ashton turns his attention to the screen for a while, lets himself get absorbed by the graphics and by Calum’s enthusiasm until twenty minutes later he's hissing when Calum’s player misses a penalty._ _

__Calum decides to pay him some attention, then, like he's remembered that Ashton exists. He doesn't turn his head, doesn't acknowledge Ashton properly because he's not about to lose to fucking Arsenal. “So you're not gonna tell me what happened, but you're going to sit here and watch me play the virtual version of a game you hate?”_ _

__Ashton thinks that's a fair summary. “Yeah, pretty much.”_ _

__“At least take a shower, bro, you smell like you're fresh out of an orgy,” Calum crinkles his nose in disgust, and Ashton throws a pillow at him in response. The wanker doesn't even look away from the screen._ _

__“Right, because you know exactly what an orgy smells like.” Ashton scoffs, and when Calum turns to him and wiggles his eyebrows he bursts out laughing._ _

__“I'm a frequent orgy attender, I'll have you know,” Calum protests._ _

__“It's not an orgy if the only participants are you and your hand, Cal,” Ashton giggles._ _

__“Fuck you, Ashton Irwin, and fuck everything you stand for.”_ _

__~_ _

__Geordie’s wolf whistling at him before she even says hello. She reaches up to poke at the marks on Ashton’s neck- it's been a few days so they’ve faded to bruises now. Still, it aches like a motherfucker when she presses on them. “Ash, you sly dog,” she smirks. “Who’s the lucky fella?”_ _

__Ashton glares at her as she puts the kettle on, though he's not sure it's very menacing. “Nobody you need to worry about.”_ _

__“Ooh, touchy subject?” She asks, still teasing, and well, Ashton’s not yet sure whether it is or it isn't._ _

__Mentally he's absolutely all over the place, has spent the last couple days just wallowing in his feelings. He likes Luke a fuck ton, basically, and Luke is sweet to him and he sends cute flirty messages and again, Ashton really wants to drive home that _he’s not a sex worker who knows all of Ashton’s kinkiest secrets_ , because that does feel like a sticking point. _ _

__And it should be that easy, should be a case closed situation where he chooses what Luke is offering him over the possible scenarios he's dreaming up that involve Michael, but it just so happens that it's definitely neither of those things._ _

__Michael is plaguing his every damn moment, invading his mind like a parasitic disease. The sound of Michael bringing himself to orgasm plays on a constant loop in Ashton’s head. Michael begging Ashton to let him come is practically elevator music now, subtly playing beneath the jumble of his other thoughts._ _

__Ashton clears his throat to answer her, but before he can even begin Harry is calling up the stairs to Geordie. “Is that Ashton?”_ _

__“Yeah,” Ash shouts back, “it's me.”_ _

__Geordie gives him a _look_ that tells him the conversation isn't over and that this discussion has merely been postponed to a later date, but Ashton’s heading downstairs just as Geordie moves to grab mugs from a cupboard. _ _

__Harry pulls him into a hug as he steps into the basement, clapping him on the back just for good measure because Harry Styles is a really fucking friendly guy. “So we’ve been thinking,” he begins, smiling devilishly. “How would you feel about, hypothetically, performing an original?”_ _

__“Um,” Ashton says, eloquent as ever- and despite being blindsided, wow! “Who’s been writing songs?” He asks, because God help him if it's fucking-_ _

__“I have.” Michael says. Which- great, wonderful. Ashton loves his life. Ashton lets his gaze flicker to their fourth member- he's lounging on the couch, lanky body extended over the span of the sofa, and it feels like he's offering himself up to Ashton when he ever so slightly parts his legs. Ashton zeroes in on the space between his thighs, imagines his own knee forcing itself into that gap, imagines Michael rutting forwards into it, chasing any available friction. Ashton swallows audibly, tension suddenly palpable, contaminating the air. Michael licks his lower lip and Ashton follows the movement of his tongue, dazed._ _

__“Oh,” Ashton says, clears his throat, snaps himself out of his reverie. “Uh,” he says, and shit, he's definitely got a real knack for communication- in fact, he should start considering a change in majors- public relations is where he could really shine. “That's cool.” He doesn't even know if people say cool anymore- they probably don't- but three syllables is two more than one, so he's basically Shakespeare._ _

__“Mike reckons he’s the next Morrissey.” Harry grins, oblivious to the Moment™ his bandmates just had._ _

__Michael makes a noise of protest that's half scoff, half laugh. “When did I say that, ever?”_ _

__Harry rolls his eyes. “You didn't say it with words so much as with a smug fucking smile.” Ashton snorts, then turns red, feeling like he's overstepped. The bantering is Michael and Harry’s thing, because they're best friends, and they obviously both find it weird that Ashton thinks he can get involved. Except Harry doesn't look at Ashton like he's weird, in fact, he shares a conspiratorial smirk with him, and carries on teasing Michael- “you know, the smug smile that literally never leaves your face.”_ _

__“Geordie,” Michael yells, and it's ridiculously ironic how smug he looks as he stares at Harry, challenging him. “Harry’s being mean to me!”_ _

__“You're such a fucking snitch,” Harry laughs, shaking his head._ _

__“Leave the boy alone, H,” Geordie calls back, “and Michael, stop with the fucking snitching.”_ _

__"So, about the song," Harry says, but he's interrupted as Geordie walks down the stairs holding two mugs._ _

__She offers one to Ashton. "Two sugars, yeah?" She says, and he nods. It feels kind of significant that she knows how he takes his tea, but he thinks it's only because he's weirdly sentimental._ _

__“So anyway, about the song,” Harry continues._ _

__Michael interrupts. “It's called Airplanes,” he says. “It's just a rough draft, at the moment, it still needs some work, but Haz is pretty sure we’ve all bagged an A if we do an original.”_ _

__Harry nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, that,” he says, and then “Mike can go through the lyrics with you, now you're here.”_ _

__Ashton feels all of a sudden very trapped. “You're not staying?”_ _

__Harry shakes his head. “Nah, we’ve already started learning our parts, so it makes more sense for me and Geord to get on with it separately while Michael explains.”_ _

__That makes sense on the most fundamental of levels, but that doesn't mean Ashton is at all prepared to be left alone with Michael._ _

__“Besides,” Geordie fills in, “it’s not like he bites, or anything. You’ll be fine together.” Her tone is vaguely reassuring- but he's not taken his eyes off Michael, and the way he smirks is anything but._ _

__“Yeah, I know that,” Ashton says hesitantly, because he's frankly not sure that he does._ _

__Harry coughs emphatically, circling Geordie’s wrist with the hand that's not holding a mug, and pulls her towards the stairs. “Right- so we’ll just fuck off then.”_ _

__They giggle like little girls as they make their way up the stairs, and Ashton can't help but feel like he's being set up._ _

__Ashton flounders. He's got nowhere to look but Michael, now, and he's not about to stand around awkwardly for the next hour or so, but Michael makes no move to let Ashton sit down. He's still smirking, damn it, and Ashton knows from experience that there are very few ways to force the half smile off his face, and all of those ways are totally NSFW._ _

__He goes to step towards to sofa but aborts his movement instantaneously. He clears his throat again, tries to expel some of the tension that's lodged itself there. “So did you want to show me the lyrics, then?” he starts._ _

__Michael gets up, moves to grab his guitar. Ashton is confused momentarily until Michael, with his back turned, says “I figured I’d play it for you, and you can play along.” He turns around, somewhat battered Gibson in one hand and sheet music in the other. “You're a fast learner, right? That's what you said last time.” That's a challenge if Ashton’s ever heard one- gauntlet officially thrown down._ _

__Ashton takes the sheet music, frowns when he sees how fast paced it is but takes his seat behind the drumkit anyway._ _

__He just plays, then, hardly even listens to the melody Michael’s playing, too concentrated on himself and what he’s got to do. Then Michael starts singing, and he damn near jumps out of his skin from shock._ _

__He looks up, and the red haired boy is pacing circuits around the room and strumming nonchalantly at his guitar. He's not mic’d up, so Ashton really has to listen to hear his voice over the crashing of his drums and the amped up electric Michael is playing the melody on._ _

__Michael’s got a beautiful voice, actually. There's something so raw, so candid about the way he sings, and he's got this kind of understated rasp that makes his voice even more incredible._ _

__And now Ashton’s looked up he can't bring himself to look away. He’d allowed himself to forget, honestly, how attractive Michael actually was, so that the decision to choose Luke would be an easier one. Because shit, Michael is fucking gorgeous._ _

__And then Ashton makes a terrible decision. His eyes stray down to Michael’s hands on his fretboard and he watches Michael strumming, absently, until all of a sudden he's not watching him at all. Instead, he’s lost in his imagination and conjuring up images of Michael sprawled on Ashton’s bed, small, tattooed fingers opening himself up like he’s done countless times over the phone for Ashton. Fuck. Fucking hell._ _

__Ashton can understand Michael’s frustration, honestly, now that he's seeing the tools Michael has had to work with- and that's why it's easy enough to let his mind wander further into the abyss, to add himself into the picture. To replace Michael’s fingers with his own and finally give him some relief, crook his fingers just enough in the right spot so Michael gasps and curses, clutching at the sheets, reeling. To suck a trail of marks onto Michael’s clavicle watch red blossom beneath his mouth and disrupt the pure white of Michael’s skin._ _

__Fuck. He’s stopped drumming._ _

__He looks up to see a smirk that feels familiar playing across Michael’s face. “Everything okay?”_ _

__And, well. Not really. He's sitting there, hard in his pants and he has no idea how long Michael’s been calling out to him._ _

__Ashton clears his throat. “Sorry- I, uh- I’m a bit out of it today.”_ _

__Michael scoffs. “Yeah, no shit.”_ _

__Ashton sighs, kneads his eye with the heel of his hand. “Look, we can just go back a few bars and start over.”_ _

__Michael nods. “Yeah, we could,” he assents. He lays his guitar down. “Or we could talk about what made you so ‘out of it’.”_ _

__Ashton balks. “No, no it’s nothing, I’m just tired.”_ _

__Michael smiles to himself, shakes his head fondly. “Ashton,” he says amusedly. “Wouldn't you rather just skip the inevitable weeks worth of sexual tension and just get straight to it? Because I would definitely prefer it if I wasn't left hanging again.”_ _

__Ashton does feel a bit bad about that, actually._ _

__“You're all I've thought about for days, Ash.” Michael continues, kicking his legs out in front of him and settling into the couch. “The way you had me pinned to the wall, fuck, that was so hot. Wanted to just drop to my fucking knees- I would have, if you’d stayed.”_ _

__Ashton takes it back. Michael's playing dirty- which Ashton should have expected but isn't prepared for._ _

__“Michael, stop it,” Ashton warns._ _

__Michael is seemingly unphased- carries on as if Ashton had said nothing. “God, you have no idea how hard it was to stop myself from sucking you off the first moment I realised who you were.” Michael gets up from the sofa and stalks over to where Ashton sits, absently trailing his fingers over Ashton’s drums and talking at the ground._ _

__Michael chuckles. “You know, I’d never actually got myself off for a customer before: but something about you just had me so fucking desperate for it. And then you walked into my goddamn house, looking like-” he gestures at Ashton vaguely, “ _that_ , and it felt too good to be true.”_ _

__Michael smirks and carries on. “You know what else is too good to be true? Your mother fucking hands. God, Ashton, the entire time you were drumming I don't think I fucking looked away. And when you twirled your fucking drumsticks, Jesus Christ.” Michael moans softly, aligning his front to Ashton’s back._ _

__“Shut up, Michael,” Ashton groans, trying to ignore his ever more demanding erection, only made worse by Michael’s insistent breathing on his neck._ _

__Michael tuts. “I don't think you want me to. You never have before.”_ _

__“Shut up, unless you're going to do something about this.” Ashton challenges, voice dangerously low._ _

__“And if I don't want to do either of those things?” Michael teases. Ashton spins around in his chair, feeling very Bond villain, before he pulls Michael down to straddle his lap. It just so happens that the angle he pulls Michael down to means that their clothed crotches are perfectly parallel; and Ashton can feel that Michael is as hard as he is._ _

__“Then you're fired from the band.” Ashton suggests._ _

__“It's definitely not your band.” Michael protests. “And even if it was, Geordie and Harry would outvote you and I’d have to stay and that might be more uncomfortable than the sexual tension.” Ashton giggles._ _

__“Oh my god, just shut the fuck up,” Ashton laughs again._ _

__“Make me,” Michael says, and that kind of resets the mood._ _

__“Oh yeah?” Ashton murmurs, all of a sudden overwhelmed by lust and the desire to just fucking get Michael off._ _

__Michael swallows audibly. “Yeah.”_ _

__And then Ashton kisses him, finally, and it feels a tiny bit like coming home. It's comforting, familiar, but at the same time it ignites this fiery passion within him that has him pulling Michael closer, gripping his hips and gasping into his mouth. It's everything Ashton expected, everything he’d dreamed about, and still so much more._ _

__It's enough to make him forget about anybody else. He loses himself entirely in the press of Michael’s lips, in the desperate way Michael grinds on Ashton, seeking friction of any kind._ _

__“Are you boys decent?” Harry calls, and seconds later he's throwing the door open and coming downstairs._ _

__Ashton and Michael spring apart instantly, like that will in any way make it less apparent that they’d just been kissing- like their obvious boners, messy hair and swollen lips don't give it all away in seconds._ _

__“What's all this then?” He teases, and Ashton’s rendered speechless. He doesn't fucking know what this is- this is him and Michael making out in a damn basement at fucking band practice, like characters in a nineties high school movie. This is undefined, uncharted territory. This is purely sexual, physical attraction, and it's probably also something like cheating._ _

__Shit._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back at mashlumtrash if I wanna hmu on tumblr !!!

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on tumblr it's @ castawaylive !!!


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